


The Revenge

by Riverlander974



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Princess Bride (1987)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, WinterIronShield Bang 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 67,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverlander974/pseuds/Riverlander974
Summary: “Hello. My name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die.”Heroes, Giants, Pirates, Villains, Revenge and True Love.You know this story. Mostly.A 'Princess Bride’ AU.





	1. The Rider and The Swordsman

**Author's Note:**

> GIVE ALL THE LOVE TO MY AMAZING ARTIST [HAZEIN](http://hazein.tumblr.com) AND BLESS YOUR EYES WITH THE BEAUTY SHE HAS CREATED
> 
> Oh, and enjoy the story too :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a kidnapping, and insane cliffs are climbed...

####   **The Rider**

“Any minute now,” Stone kept muttering to himself, peering out from where he was crouched behind a tree.

Tony nodded, paying more attention to the flask in his hand. The stubborn cork had been stuck since Thor borrowed it last week — he still seemed to misjudge his strength sometimes. Tony knew he needed to be clear-headed for Stone's plan for today, he wasn't actually going to drink at the moment, but a sip would have been a small comfort.

A large hand nearly knocked him over, the whole palm cupping one shoulder. Looking up, Tony saw the bright bearded grin and golden mane and had to smile a little, just in response to the exuberant joy shining at him.

“Are you well, Stark?” Thor boomed, voice a deep rumble, beautifully ignoring Stone still hissing at them to be quiet. 

####  [ ](http://hazein.tumblr.com/post/170791391805/art-piece-for-winterironshieldbang-do-you-love)

_Art by[Hazein](http://hazein.tumblr.com)_

“I’m okay, buddy,” Tony slipped the flask back in his pocket. “Just a touch of nerves.”

“Tis a simple job,” Thor said. “Don't worry over—”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Stone snapped. “Here he comes!”

A distant sound of hooves grew louder, and soon enough a rider appeared around the bend in the path. Tony straightened up, tapping at his belt and feeling for the familiar hilt of the sword at his hip.

Stone stood up and turned to the pair of them, the look in his beady eyes making them flinch. “Do not mess this up,” he hissed. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

The dark glare was suddenly wiped off his face as Stone turned away with a fake smile, smoothing back his pale hair and stepping out from behind the tree to face the approaching rider. Tony patted Thor on the chest as they followed Stone, “We’re up, big guy.”

“A word, good sir?” Stone called out to the rider.

The rider pulled to a stop in front of them with a neat flick of his heels, and Tony got his first good look at the man. Handsomely dressed in black velvet and leathers, with a curtain of dark hair that had come half-loose of its tie, all Tony could see of the face was a straight nose and full lips over a dimpled chin. Riding goggles still hid the man’s eyes, and Tony could spot at _least_ seven hidden weapons about his person.

“We are but poor, lost travellers,” Stone said. “Is there a village nearby?”

The rider slid his goggles up, and Tony felt frozen under icy bright grey eyes, which rolled over the three of them with suspicion. Tony knew that they might have looked scruffy enough to pass for poor, but they were also too well-armed to be simple travellers. The hammer tied to Thor’s belt was no small carpentry tool, and though Tony’s goatee was the most diligently maintained thing about him, the sword at his hip wasn't just for show. Stone probably looked the least threatening, and only because all of his favourite weapons weren't physical.

“There is nothing nearby,” the rider said, voice surprisingly soft for such a dark appearance. “Not for miles.”

“Good!” Stone grinned, clapping his hands. “Then there will be no one to hear you scream.”

Thor stepped forward, one hand quickly wrapping around the man’s neck to pinch at a nerve. Those grey eyes rolled up into his head as the rider slumped sideways into Thor’s arms, unconscious before he could shout or scream.

“Hurry up!” Stone said, watching Thor gently lift the rider off his mount. Stone then shoved the horse’s reins into Tony’s hands. “Go — get the boat ready!”

Tony did as Stone asked, stepping up onto the horse’s saddle. There wasn’t really a chance that he’d run away. Not being so much in debt to Stone as he was, and the slippery man knew it. Besides, Thor was the only real friend of Tony’s in years, it wouldn't have felt right to leave him alone with Stone. The only place Tony was going was to ready the boats, as he’d been ordered.

Still, he couldn’t help feeling like that take-down had gone too easily. _And had there been a touch of relief in those grey eyes when they had closed?_

 

* * *

 

The boat was about ready to sail by the time Thor and Stone caught up on foot, the rider still unconscious in Thor’s arms. Tony decided on a final check, hopping deftly back on land to scan the hull of the boat as Thor walked up the ramp. The rider still didn't stir as Thor set him down, binding his wrists and ankles with rope.

Stone had headed straight for the horse, fiddling with something on the saddle.

“What is it you’re doing?” Tony asked, coming closer to see Stone secure a strip of fabric into the saddle.

“It’s a seal,” Stone said. “From the uniform of an Army officer of Guilder.”

Thor’s head popped up, “Who’s Guilder?”

Stone shot a dark look at them, pointing across the water, “It’s the neighbouring country of these lands. The sworn enemy of Florin!” He slapped the horse’s rump and watched it run off with a satisfied grin. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the seal will make the Princess suspect the Guilderians have kidnapped her love. And when they find his dead body on the Guilder border, their suspicions will be confirmed.”

Thor frowned, looking down at the unconscious man at his feet. “You never said anything about killing anyone.”

“We’ve been hired to start a war,” Stone crowed cheerily, hopping aboard. “That’s a prestigious line of work in a glorious, grand old tradition. We’re war-mongers now, boys!”

“I don’t think it’s right, killing him,” Thor mumbled. “I heard their betrothal was arranged. Perhaps the Princess will not care—”

Stone turned to Thor so suddenly it startled him, an ugly sneer on his face. “Am I going mad, or did I hear you say you could ‘ _think_ ’? You weren't hired for your brains, you _hippopotomatic land mass_ \- remember that!”

Thor’s face crumpled, and Tony couldn't really help himself, hurrying to stand by the big guy. “I agree with Thor.” It only really drew the anger to _him_.

“Oh? And now the sot has spoken!” Stone spat. He stalked towards them, backing them both up against the quarter deck. “What happens to him isn't your concern. And never forget this—” Tony kept his face blank under those beady eyes. “When I found you, you were barely worth more alive than dead, over a dozen terrible people after your head. And you—” Thor turned his face away from the fury on him now. “Friendless, _brainless_ , helpless, hopeless. How would you like me to send you back to where I found you, abandoned in Greenland?”

Thor trembled, and Tony reached a hand back for him to hold. He’d already been part of Stone’s company when Tony had joined them, but for all of his massive size and enormous presence, it had become swiftly apparent that in those early _‘helpless, hopeless’_ days something had happened that even now kept Thor afraid, preferring to weather Stone’s fury than face whatever awaited him back in Greenland.

“I - _own_ \- you.”

With those words, Stone left to stand at the bow of the boat, looking importantly out across the water. Tony glared at his back, before pulling Thor along to help him cast off the boat. They left the shore, trundling along the gentle currents of the water.

The frightened crease on Thor’s brow hadn't left though. Tony couldn't stand that on a face that was so made for smiling and nudged him in the side. “That Mister Stone, he sure can _fuss_ …”

At least the crease of his brow was now from him thinking. “Fuss… Hmm… Yes, he likes to scream at _us_.”

“Sharp bite, loud  _bark._ ” It was a silly game they’d done for some years now. Despite Stone thinking him brainless, Thor actually just knew so many languages he sometimes muddled them up. Tony thought the game helped him a bit, making him focus for a little on one word at a time (and with someone who wasn't going to yell if he slipped into Scandinavian or French).

“You speak true, Friend _Stark_.”

“Oh,” Tony still faltered a moment whenever Thor called him a friend. “You’ve a great gift for _rhyme_.”

And at last, a small but proud smile. “Some of the _time_.”

“Enough of that!” Stone screeched from the front of the boat.

They ducked their heads, but only to hide their grins.

“He looks like his head could  _burst_ ,” Tony continued, because there were days when all the power he had was to push Stone like that, and there was some small satisfaction in watching from a distance as Stone’s face reddened with rage, blood vessels visibly throbbing at his temples. It was a little treat.

“Only after his vein pops _first_.”

They muffled their giggles as the listened to Stone’s angry screeching.

 

* * *

 

They were still sailing when it was dark, nothing but open waters and a nighttime mist around them. Tony was up at the helm, an easy hand on the tiller. His attention kept drifting between the waters around them, and Thor below on the main deck. The big man was going through the small mountain of weapons in front of him, all of which he’d plucked from the rider’s unconscious body. Thor had been forced to search him three times to be certain of getting everything. Knives, darts, compact explosives — for such a heavily armed man, he was taken down easily. _Too easily_ , Tony was certain. But what good could he possibly get from being kidnapped by them?

Stone was sat against one side of the boat, facing the rider, calmly breaking off chunks from a loaf of bread and eating. He hadn't offered food to anyone else, and no one was stupid enough to ask him for any. They'd made that mistake enough to have learnt better long ago.

Tony quietly thought the rider had woken hours ago, though his eyes were still shut. His body was too still on the boat. Probably trying to gather information on his kidnappers, which Tony could admire. Unfortunately, all he would learn is that two were good at rhyming games, and the third detested fun. Not much had been spoken since Stone put a final stop to their game as the sun was setting.

Thor held up another knife for Tony to see. It was wicked sharp and in a strange curve — it looked more like a scythe. Tony nodded absently and watched him put it in one pile with the other sharp things, before glancing behind the boat again.

“We’ll reach the cliffs by dawn if we keep on this course,” Stone said. Tony hummed agreeably, eyes more focused on something behind them. A piece of bread crust hit the back of his head. “Why are you doing that?”

“Making sure no one is following us,” Tony said with a shrug.

Stone scoffed. “That would be inconceivable.”

“Despite what you might think, you will be caught,” that soft voice from earlier said, and they all turned to the rider. Those piercing grey eyes were open again, like two moons shining out in the darkness. “And the King will see you all hanged.”

“Of all the necks onboard, _Highness_ , you should only be worrying about your own-  _will you stop doing that?!_ ” Another piece of crust hit Tony in the shoulder. “It’s almost over and you’re only stressing me out.”

“You’re certain no one’s following us?” Tony tossing the fallen bread crusts down to Thor to eat.

“As I said, it would be inconceivable,” Stone said. “No one in _Guilder_ knows what we’ve done. And none in _Florin_ could catch up so fast. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, no reason,” Tony drawled. “It’s only, I was looking behind, and there’s something there.”

Stone leapt up the short ladder and nearly bowled Tony over getting to the back of the boat, squinting out into the darkness and the waters. They all looked. And just visible in the gaps of swirling mist, there was another sailboat. Smaller than theirs, with black sails, and still too far off to make out whoever was sailing the boat.

“It’s- it’s probably just some fisherman,” Stone insisted. “Out on a nighttime cruise— in eel-infested waters—”

 _SPLASH!_ They turned again to find their rider missing, only the ropes that had bound him left behind.

Stone screeched, hands gripping his hair, “Go in! Get after him!”

Tony shook his head, paling at even thought of diving into the dark waters. “I don't swim,” he insisted, and Thor shrugged when Stone turned to him after. “I only doggy paddle,” he said, miming for emphasis.

“Follow him then!” Stone screamed, dragging Thor after him to look for their escapee. “Veer left! _Left_ , you cretin!”

Tony quickly steered the boat left.

A high-pitched shriek howled through the air carried under the breeze, and it sent shivers of fear spiking into all of their hearts.

“Do you hear that, Highness?” Stone called out overboard. “That is the sound of the Shrieking Eels, monstrous flesh-eating creatures born from those that die in storms at sea, their last screams echoing for all eternity. They grow louder when they're about to feed.” Another shriek pierced the night. Closer now too. “Swim back to us. It’s a kinder fate onboard than what you’ll face with the Eels.”

Tony couldn't see what the rider was doing from his place at the stern, he could only see the backs of Stone and Thor, leaning over the side as they were. He couldn't even hear the water lapping at the hull anymore, not over the shrieks that were only growing louder.

Soon though, Thor raised his arm, hammer in hand, and swung it down. It hit something in the water with a heavy  _thunk_ , and with his other hand, Thor hauled the rider back onto the boat. The rider landed on the deck with a wet  _splat_ , his long hair sticking to his face and a puddle already forming where he sat.

Stone grabbed the ropes and bound him again, much tighter than Thor had done. “I suppose you think you're brave, don't you?”

“Only compared to some,” the rider answered him gravely.

Stone scoffed, before glaring up at Thor. “Keep an eye on him, if you're capable of even that, you great buffoon. And wake me at dawn.” With that he left them for his spot at the bow, gathering all of their blankets into a comfortable pile for his own bedding. He promptly curled up with his back to them and started snoring in that irritating way of his. At least, that was Tony’s opinion on the sound, a sputtering snort with a high nasal whine to finish.

Tony looked at the miserable sight the rider made, shivering in his soaked clothes. “Thor, buddy, you still have that old coat of yours?”

Thor perked up, going to dig into his small bag of belongings and pulling out the worn red thing.

It no longer had sleeves, after an accident last year, and it was so old that nearly all the red colouring had worn away into a rusty brown, but Tony knew personally how soft the coat still was when tucked all around you. It was nothing like the quality of stuff the rider was wearing now, but it was dry and warm. Holding the coat out to the man, Thor approached slowly, but the rider offered no resistance as he was tucked in.

“Rest, if you can,” Thor told him. “No harm shall come to you tonight.”

“And I'm supposed to trust the words of my kidnappers, am I?”

“I doubt you’ll hear the word of any others for a while,” Thor shrugged. “Are you thirsty? We have some water. Or would you prefer something stronger?”

“That’s not for sharing!” Tony said, patting on the flask in his pocket.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Thor nodded sagely. “It is not fit for mortals to drink overmuch. It burns from lips to belly, then purges the body of all except the pain after. The only apparent cure is to further imbibe or endure suffering loudly a further two days.”

Tony received a truly insulting look of disbelief for that.

“And he still drinks it?”

“Alas, I have done what I can to stop him—”

“I _knew_ you stuck the cork on purpose!” Tony cried, and Thor grinned.

The rider was also smirking at them now. He was still wound up tight, tense as anything, but he was laughing at them too, in that little curl of his lip there. Tony pulled his eyes up away from those lips with a shake of his head, looking out to safer places out on the water as he steered the boat. The man was engaged to a Princess, and their prisoner, nothing good would come from looking.

“Is your name really _Thor_?” Tony heard the rider ask eventually.

“Aye, an unusual name outside my home, I've come to learn.”

“Weird.”

“So I've been told.”

“No,” Tony piped up. “I said _you_ were weird, not your name specifically.”

“Are you certain you want nothing to drink, your Highness?” Thor asked again.

“Don’t call me that.”

It was a much different tone of voice from the rider. For all that he’d generally been kidnapped and tied up by them, he hadn't sounded so cold until now. Tony pulled his gaze back onboard to see the rider looking blankly at the planks beneath his feet.

Thor just took it in stride in that way of his. “What might I call you then?”

“You don't even know who you kidnapped?”

He only got a sheepish shrug from Thor for that. “We answer Stone’s bidding, and he seldom shares many details,” Thor said. “He thinks me too dumb, and Stark too clever, so chooses to keep us both in the dark. Holding information is his particular speciality.”

The rider frowned at them both now, and Tony couldn't help but bristle at the look. He knew that look. He didn't like that look, didn't need anyone to look at him with that sort of pity. He could take care of himself just fine. “You’re his slaves.”

“I prefer the term  _indentured employees_ ,” Tony sniped. “And we aren’t that anyway - we’re just… doing work for Stone. For now. It’s not great, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“That ain’t living,” the rider said.

“And what would you know about not living?”

The rider had that blank stare going again. “I had a love once, a True Love, and I lost them. You think I don't know the difference between surviving and really living since?”

Tony scoffed, “ _True Love_ ,” and looked away from the pair, “Children’s fairy tales!” He was going to keep his eyes on the water ahead from now on, and not listen to ridiculous ideas, or be looked at by those sharp grey eyes. The boat was too small to ignore their voices, but he didn't have to be a part of their talk.

“Do not take his words to heart,” Thor whispered, in his typical non-whisper. “Stark’s word don't often reflect the truly romantic nature of his heart.” The rider grunted sceptically. “I _have_ heard… if you are the Princess’ Bridegroom, are you the same man they once called the Winter Sol—”

“I don't do that anymore. I'm not him now.”

“Apologies.”

“Just… call me Bucky, I guess.”

“Bucky, then. Well met.”

“This could be worse, I suppose,” Bucky drawled. “Pretty civilised, as far as kidnappings go.”

“And you have really experienced True Love?” Thor said. “What is it like?”

“Like nothing else.”

“Was it instant?”

“Not for me,” Bucky admitted. “I only knew him as trouble. He was always getting into trouble, and making my life hell saving his ass, but… he was my best friend, I couldn't imagine life without him. Our feelings grew later, but our time was short, and then soon it was all too late.”

Thor let out a deep sigh, and Tony had to force himself not to look down. It was bad enough eavesdropping on a conversation he didn't want to hear, he wasn't interested in seeing that sappy look on Thor’s face  _again_. Or whatever expression was on Bucky’s face right either. He wasn't interested in these silly stories anymore. _Children’s fairy tales._

“I grieve for your loss, but cannot help feeling envious too,” Thor said softly. “I have long dreamed of a love of my own. One who would be home to me, when I have none.”

“There’s still time.” Kind words, from a man to his kidnappers.

“Perhaps, but what do I have to offer? I am bound indefinitely in Stone’s service. It is no life to present to someone beloved.”

“I’ll give you one piece of advice, Thor,” Bucky said, voice dipping with the sway of the boat. “If you do ever find True Love, don't let anything like Stone stand in the way. You hold onto ‘em with both hands and all of your heart.”

“I will. Thank you, Bucky,” Thor said, sounding happier. More hopeful. Tony kept his face turned ahead, he didn't want to dampen that good mood with whatever dark expression he had on. It was always terrible to make Thor sad. “We should rest now, it will be a long day tomorrow. Stark will keep a vigilant eye over us. He always has.”

There was the sound of shuffling below him, boots kicked off onto the wooden deck, and eventually, the almost comforting sound of Thor’s rumbling snores spilled across the boat. Tony didn't check to see if Bucky was sleeping. If he was, he made no sound. As the boat drifted on in the night, Tony watched over the waters, with the duet of snores his only company.

… And that black sailboat still trailing behind them.

 

* * *

  

“D’you lose your True Love, too, or something?”

The question came out of nowhere a while later, and Tony peered down to see that Bucky was indeed not sleeping. He was doing that stare again, the intense one that had Tony’s hair standing on end. Tony groaned, dropping his head back to squint up at the sky. “Oh, I can already tell this is gonna mean a headache.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Why aren’t you scurrying off to freedom?” Tony shot back. “We’re out of eel-infested waters now. Stone’s asleep. If you keep to the waters around the south, you could swim back to Florin by tomorrow.”

“You’re real strange kidnappers, encouraging me to escape,” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah? Well, buddy, I gotta tell you that  _you’re_ a pretty strange captive too, _not_ taking this golden opportunity to escape,” Tony said.

“Still haven’t answered my question.”

“And you haven’t answered mine, but you don't see me needling you about it.”

With that, Tony focused once again on the open silent waters. Not that he really expected to be left alone. He didn't really expect to glance over to his right and suddenly see Bucky settling next to him though, nonchalantly coiling the ropes that had bound him and setting them on the deck by his knee. Tony groaned again and thumped his forehead with a fist.

“If you’re really not gonna take off, you know I'm just gonna have to tie you up again.”

Bucky just shrugged, looking out over the water. _Fine_ , Tony would just keep steering the boat as he had been doing, and before dawn, he’d tie Bucky up again and nudge him back down to the main deck. Stone would be none the wiser. “I'm not escaping because I got no reason to go back,” Bucky said blankly.

“Really? Don’t you have a Princess who you’re supposed to be marrying?”

“Sure,” Bucky nodded. “But we’re not in love. It’s an arrangement for the good of the country.”

“And yet, you’re fine abandoning betrothed and country, and going along with this kidnapping.”

A dark look passed over Bucky’s face, not that his expression changed much, but something in the dip of his eyes and the sharpness of his jaw gave it away. “I’ve given enough to my country.”

“Hmm.” There was obviously a story behind that, and Tony would bet his meagre gold it involved that fabled ‘ _True Love_ ’ of too. But he wasn't going to ask, because knowing inevitably led to getting involved, and Tony had enough on his plate without getting involved in anyone else’s troubles, and yep, _headache_. He patted down his pockets and pulled out his flask, biting at the stopper as he tried again to get it open, _damn you, Thor!_

“So…” Bucky nudged him with an elbow. “You gonna answer me now?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Tony grunted around the stopper. “I don't remember agreeing to any  _quid quo pro_ here. Just because you decided to answer my question, doesn’t mean I have to answer yours—”

“Will you answer the damn question if I open that for you?”

Tony paused, still gnawing at the cork as he turned to Bucky. He narrowed his eyes at the twitch he spotted in the corner of those pouty lips, “If you can get this open for me, then _fine_ , I’ll answer your ridiculous question.”

Bucky didn't bother waiting and just plucked the flask straight from his mouth, fingers brushing his bottom lip, leaving Tony frozen for a moment from the gentle touch. He shook his head and watched Bucky’s eyes narrow as he considered the stopper, turning the flask over in his hands, before pinching the cork and twisting it free with a hollow _pop_.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony hissed, reaching for the flask. “I’ve been trying to do that for a fucking _week_!”

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky held the flask up out of reach in his right hand, a bright flash of a grin pulling at his lips. “Answer first, then you get your drink.” Tony tried to lunge for the flask anyway but got stopped by a solid hand flat against his chest.

And it was truly _solid_.

Pushing back - because that’s what he always did - Tony felt no give in the hand at all. Not even a small flex of the wrist or fingers. He stared down at the hand, curious now, and reached up to investigate more, maybe pull off the black leather gloves to have a proper look, when Bucky abruptly pulled away.

Tony almost face-planted the deck at the sudden loss of support. “What—?”

“Answer. First.” Bucky said again, though the playful note had gone from his voice now.

He shook the flask for emphasis, and Tony sighed, sitting back again. “I didn't lose a ‘True Love’, no, because I never had one. Because they don't exist. I stopped believing in that sort of make belief a long time ago.”

“Have you never loved someone?”

“The last time I _loved_  it got me stuck _here_!” Tony suddenly snapped, glaring all around the boat, and maybe especially at Stone’s snoring shadow at the front. “Sufficed to say, I've learnt my lesson. Love has nothing for me. Nothing but trouble, and pain, and running, and- and I've answered your question, now give me back my drink.”

There was silence for a long while before Bucky huffed and handed over the flask. “I guess we’re all prisoners in our own way.”

 

* * *

  

“Your Majesty!” A runner burst into the full courtroom, waving a scrap of fabric in one hand. “The Princess’ Bridegroom — he’s been kidnapped!”

Murmurs rippled through the room, but the King had eyes only on the runner, beckoning him forward. He reached for the fabric, but a slender hand intercepted him.

“The seal of the Army of _Guilder_ ,” the Princess said, raising one blood-red eyebrow at the runner, dazzling green eyes stunning the poor man where he stood.

“It—” he gulped around a suddenly dry throat. “It was found on his horse, your Highness. The Soldier never returned from his daily ride.”

The Princess nodded, turning to the King. “I will go after him.”

“Natasha…” the King said, a warning in his voice.

She lifted her chin, “I'm capable of rescuing him.”

“I know, but you are the Crown Princess, and this is dangerous,” the King pointed out. “At least don’t go after him alone.”

“Fine,” Natasha conceded. “I will take my guard.”

“And the Count and his men,” the King insisted. “A mistake could lead to war. He is wise and experienced. The Count will help you.”

Natasha’s lips pinched, but she bit back any complaints, dipping her head instead. “As my King commands.” With that, she turned from the throne and strode through the courtroom, her faithful guard seamlessly and silently joining her from the shadows. Natasha paused just before leaving the room though, staring down a man who was stood smoking heavily in the doorway.

He bowed deeply to her, one arm sweeping out, “I will ready some men at once, your Highness.”

She dipped her head once more and said “Count Stane,” before continuing at a quick pace from the room.

 

* * *

 

####  **The Swordsman**

“He’s right on top of us!” Tony said, eyes fixed on the black sailboat behind theirs. It was close enough now for him to see who sailed the boat, a dark figure in a mask. “I wonder if he’s using the same wind as us?”

“Forget them, they’re too late now,” Stone crowed. “See here — the _Cliffs of Insanity_!”

Bucky looked up in the early morning sunlight at the cliffside, cutting straight up out of the sea, impossibly high. He could see no way up the sheer rock-face. “Well, they named the place about right.”

The boat sailed straight to the cliffs. “Hurry!” Stone snapped, as Thor stood on an outcrop of rock and pulled the boat in and Tony scrambled about gathering gear. They’d be forced to leave all their things at the pace Stone was pushing them. He sneered at Bucky, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Only Thor is strong enough to go up this way. Anyone else will have to sail around to a harbour, and it’ll be hours _too_ _late_ for you.”

Bucky watched Thor reach into a crevice on the rock-face, and tug out a thick rope hiding from view, shaking it out. It reached all the way to the top. Bucky was still staring up the cliff as Tony moved to Thor and started to help him into a harness. He patted the bigger man on the shoulder once all the straps were in place, “Hope you’re feeling well-rested this morning.”

“An excellent challenge to start the day!” Thor declared, as Stone collected his bag and strapped himself to the front of the harness.

Tony reached for Bucky, tugging him to Thor’s right side and looping his bound arms over one muscled shoulder. He started to buckle several belts around Bucky’s waist and thighs when he noticed the man was shaking. “Are you still cold? I thought you’d dried off by now.”

“That’s an awful long way up,” Bucky mumbled, eyes wide as they followed the rope.

“Yes,” Tony agreed.

“Long way to fall then, too,” he continued. There was some fear for the first time in those grey eyes as he looked at Tony. “I’ve fallen from a great height like that before.”

“You seem to have survived that,” Tony pointed out, though it only made Bucky flinch and roll his shoulders up to his ears.

That wasn't what Tony was trying to do, but he’d had little practice for years of being a comfort to someone. He used to be good at comforting, Tony thought, used to be warmer and softer too. It was hard to hold on to those things in this life.

“Don’t worry,” Tony tried again, tugging at a strap around Bucky’s leg. “I made this myself and I'm a genius, you couldn't be safer. It’s designed to carry even someone of Thor’s size, you won’t fall today.”

Bucky still shook.

“Here,” Tony cupped one of his hands. “Just keep your eyes closed. We’ll reach the top before you know it.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, and Tony lingered a moment longer, before stepping away and going to strap himself in too on Thor’s other side.

“Shut up,” he hissed at Thor’s proud expression. The big lug always seemed to take great pleasure at any glimpses of what Tony deemed his soft side, a side he tried very hard to keep locked away - had to just to be able to live the life they had.

When they were all strapped onto Thor, he started pulling them all up the rope. Bucky hid his face away against one shoulder, and Tony reached around Thor’s back to hold his hand again. Bucky’s grip was bone-tight, but Tony did nothing to stop him, just gave a gentle squeeze back.

The rope hardly swayed with the weight of them holding it down, and Thor was pulling them up the cliff-face at a steady pace, a feat impossible for any normal man. Despite this, when he glanced down with his habit of keeping an eye over his shoulder, Tony was amazed to see the black sailboat docked behind their boat, and the masked man climbing the rope after them.

“He’s climbing the rope,” Tony told the others.

“Inconceivable!” Stone shrieked, kicking out. “Quicker, Thor!”

Thor grunted, but sped up, heaving them up the rope at such a pace he started to sweat. Blonde strands stuck to his cheeks and temples, and he was squinting in concentration.

And yet.

“I think he’s gaining on us,” Tony said nonplussed.

“Faster!” Stone screeched, smacking at Thor’s chest.

“I thought… I was… going faster,” Thor rasped.

“You’re supposed to be this colossus, this great legendary _thing_!” Stone spat. “And yet - he gains on us!”

“Well, I'm carrying three people,” Thor pointed out. “He carries only himself.”

“Unacceptable. If you fail at this, you’re less than useless to me, and I do not keep useless things.” Thor grimaced at that, and Tony had to hold back a glare. “Was I clear enough that it was more than your job at stake?”

“Yes,” Thor huffed, but he couldn't pull them up any faster. The masked man was still catching up.

They did manage to reach the top first, and Tony unclipped himself and scrambled over Thor to stand on the edge. Stone held a hand out, but Tony reached for Bucky instead. He was shaking worse now than he had at the foot of the cliff, sweating harder than Thor from his fear, and his face was still firmly hidden with eyes clenched shut. But he clung back as Tony lifted him out of the harness, his knees nearly giving out when he reached solid ground.

Tony gently helped Bucky sit back against a stone ruin wall far away from the edge, patting him roughly on the back, “Didn't I tell you? We reached the top and no falling. You can open your eyes now. It’s alright. There, see?”

Bucky hesitantly blinked, those grey eyes zoning in on Tony’s face. He managed a weak nod though, and a small “Thanks.”

For a drawn-out moment, Tony couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare back into those eyes. It almost felt like they were swaying closer, like some invisible thing in Tony’s chest was dragging him forward, screaming an answer of _YES_ to an unspoken question, something twisting around him with a flavour of inevitability.

And Tony thought Bucky was, maybe, just the slightest bit, leaning towards him too.

His eyes dropped to those lips he’d stared at before, bright red and plump now from Bucky biting on them with nerves, that stubble along his jaw that darkened into that tempting dip on his chin. His lips were parted just a little, and Tony could feel the barest puff of warm air on his cheek from each exhale as Bucky just stared back at him, eyes slowly dipping from Tony’s own to his—

“ _STARK!_ ” Stone roared suddenly, and Tony flailed away.

He grabbed Stone’s hand this time and hauled him up. The moment Stone got his feet under him, his hand snapped out to grab Tony by the throat, holding him right at the edge.

Tony choked in surprise, clawing at Stone’s hand as he stood on the tips of his boots to avoid falling over. Thor gaped up at the sight above him but could do nothing, clinging to the clifftop himself.

“You belong to  _me._ You’re a thing - _no!_ - less than that, because I seem to lose more from keeping you. But you answer to _me_ , you pull _me_ up first, you understand? Do you remember that? I should throw you back down for what you did,” Stone snarled at Tony’s face, spittle landing on his cheek. “This is your only warning. There will be no next time.”

Tony nodded as much as he could in Stone’s grip. He wasn't joking, Stone never did, and black spots were dancing at the edge of Tony’s sight. The nothingness at his back and under his heels was terrifying.

When Stone’s hand let go, Tony doubled over gasping for air. Stone left him hunched over at the edge, uncaring, more interested in following the rope to its anchor point among the stone ruins and pulling out a knife, that scythe-like dagger he’d apparently taken from Bucky’s arsenal. He wordlessly started sawing away into the rope.

Tony turned back to shakily help Thor up before the rope broke, trying to ignore the big blue eyes staring at his neck in concern. He nudged at Thor’s arms to allow Tony to take the harness off. “I’m fine, you big lump, don't stare,” Tony grunted, turning to dump the leathers aside. He was surprised to find Bucky watching him too, eyes quickly darting away from Tony to glare at Stone, with a look so sharp the grey shone silver in the morning light.

“Ha!” Stone had finally cut through. He watched as the rope slipped off the cliff and waited for the sound of a splash that never came.

Thor ambled to the edge to peer over the side, Tony joining him, keeping a cautious step back. “Hmm!” Thor was impressed. “He has very strong arms.”

Stone scrambled to stand beside them, and they all looked down at the masked man, a small smudge of black against the rock-face, as he clung to the cliff with his hands. “He should have fallen. It’s inconceivable!”

“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” Tony croaked.

“He’s climbing!” Thor cried in delight.

“Whoever he is, he’s seen us with the Winter Soldier,” Stone hissed, tucking the curved dagger into his bag. “So he must die. Thor - carry his _Highness._ We’re going on to the Guilder border. Stark will catch up with us when he’s dealt with this pest.” Stone grabbed a fistful of Tony’s shirt. “He dies, by fall or by the sword. If you fail…”

Tony said nothing as he watched Stone turn away to grab his bag and march off. Thor was still at his side though, looking at him with worry. “That man is strong and very determined. Will you be alright?”

Slapping on a confident grin, Tony patted at the hilt of his sword, “Always.” Tony waved him away, “I can handle him. I've got too many things I still have to do, to let myself die here.”

“Be careful,” Thor warned. “Men in masks cannot be trusted.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Stone screeched from beyond the ruins. “I’M _WAITING_!”

Thor huffed but left Tony at the cliff edge. He easily lifted Bucky and slung him over one shoulder, before hurrying away after Stone. Tony watched them go, awkwardly waving a hand until Thor carried him out of view. He noticed Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on him, with that intense gaze Tony was learning to expect.

Tony tried to convince himself everything would work out fine. Of course, it would. Drawing out his sword, Tony swung it around, loosening up his joints and warming up. The blade cut through the air in a gleaming arc, as Tony waited for the masked man to finish his climb.

 

* * *

 

“They’re on a boat,” Natasha said, standing on the shore and looking out across the shimmering water. Her hair was twisted away from her face, the red colour vivid and shining. It was a fine day to be out, and even better for giving her reason to be out of heavy decorative court dress. Her riding gear had always been more comfortable. The coat was as long as her dresses, but the splits up the skirt allowed her to move freely in her leather pants, and still offered plenty of places to hide her weapons.

The Count hummed as he stepped up to her side, folding his arms across his wide chest. “No doubt, no doubt. The only way to Guilder is across the Channel—”

“No, I mean that I know they're on a boat,” Natasha said again. “Locals have told my guard a boat set off from here. Someone matching the Soldier’s description was seen among them.”

“A group then,” the Count nodded. “They must have outnumbered him, overpowered him. Terrible. Simply terrible.”

“Hmm…”

“I will get a ship ready then,” the Count continued. “There must be something around here suitable for us to use.”

“We’re not stealing from a local.”

“Your Highness, this island and its people are yours. All that is here is yours, it isn't truly stealing,” the Count insisted. “It would simply take too long to ready the Royal ship. We’ll lose the trail.”

“If we cannot wait, then we’ll ask first, and compensate for what we must borrow.”

“Negotiating for such a trivial thing seems hardly—”

“It isn't a trivial thing to a fisherman,” Natasha pointed out. “It’s their whole means of providing food on their tables. They _will_ receive fair compensation, Stane. Aren’t you here to be my negotiator?”

He grumbled and twisted at the glittering rings on his thick fingers, but he was arguing with the Princess. Natasha only had to wait. She knew that the Count would do as she asked.

 

* * *

 

It felt like it had already been forever since Thor and Stone had left with Bucky, and the masked man still hadn't reached the top of the cliff. Waiting wasn't always something Tony was good at, not unless it was something that he really wanted. He’d warmed up, he was ready for a fight — now he only needed his opponent. Fed up and honestly bored, Tony put his sword away and headed back to the edge.

“Hey, down there,” Tony called down to the masked man. “Slow going?”

He could just about hear a great sigh from the man below, “Not to be rude, but this is harder than it looks. I’d appreciate it if you didn't distract me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Tony shuffled back and lay on his belly, crossing his arms and resting his chin on his wrists to keep watching the man climb for a few minutes. He didn't make much progress in the time, he seemed to be held up in the face of trying to climb over and around a fairly big outcrop in the cliff face. “Is there any way you could speed things up?”

“Look,” the masked man grumbled. “If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or branch, or something. Actually offer useful help.”

“There is some rope up here,” Tony said. “But would you be willing to accept it, knowing I'm only waiting up here to kill you?”

“Ah,” the masked man huffed. “Well, that certainly doesn’t help things.”

“I could promise not to kill you until you reach the top?” Tony offered.

“Very comforting, but I think you’re going to just have to wait.”

“I hate waiting,” Tony grumbled, digging his chin into his wrist. “Is there any way I could get you to trust me?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” the masked man said.

Tony blew out a great sigh of his own now, mind whirring for a possible solution. One thought did come to mind. “Do you have a mother?”

The masked man paused mid-reach for his next handhold. “I wouldn't be here if I didn’t.”

“And you love her?” Tony asked. He got a hesitant nod for that and made his decision. Holding a clenched fist over his chest, he leaned farther over the edge of the clifftop, so his words would carry clearly. “I swear to you on the soul of my mother, Maria, you will reach the top alive.”

There was a long pause as the masked man obviously debated this promise, and neither man moved, eyes locked across the cliff-face as the sun continued to rise. Tony held his gaze steady, and he didn't move from the edge, even though the high drop was beginning to make him dizzy to look down on. If he focused on that masked face, it was easier to hold vertigo at bay. Plus, the man had some truly distracting shoulders.

Tony saw the moment the masked man let those shoulders droop, and was scrambling back for the rope before he even heard another word.

“Throw me the rope.”

Uncoiling what was left of the rope from amongst the ruins, Tony hurried back and tossed it over the cliff edge. He only looked down long enough to check the rope reached the masked man, before stepping back into a squat to lower his centre of gravity, leaning back on his heels to dig into the dirt. When he saw and felt a new tautness in the rope, Tony took a deep and started hauling.

Whoever he was, the masked man was _heavy_ , but Tony was strong. Not Thor-strong, but nothing to sniff at either. And he thought the masked man must’ve been half-climbing too, the two of them working together. When the masked man finally reached the cliff-top, they were both panting from exertion, and Tony could feel his shirt sticking to his back from sweat.

“Thank you,” the masked man rasped as he shuffled to his knees, hand already reaching for the sword at his hip, but Tony shook his head.

“We’ll wait until you’re ready,” he said. It wasn't like Tony would say no to a little break to catch his breath, either.

The masked man nodded, “Thank you.”

He sat down hard on his behind and started tugging off his boots, smacking the soles and grunting when he saw several large rocks to tumble out. Tony took him in, those shoulders even more distracting up close, unfairly wide compared to the narrow waist that was all tucked up neat in a deep red sash. A mask covered his head entirely, all the way down to the bridge of his long nose, and a beard hid the rest of his face. The man could probably stand nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Thor. And he wasn't dressed in black, Tony realised, but a very dark blue like the midnight sky, and oddly he carried a large circular shield on his back. _Don't see that a lot._ His whole outfit spoke of, if not an expensive material, then good quality, the pieces all tailored to fit that large frame.

The socks, on the other hand, Tony could tell were old and worn thin. Tony could see the different shades of darning along the toes as the man stretched his feet, and he could just faintly make out some sort of star-shaped pattern on the ankles, like those for children, before the masked man slipped his boots back on. A small detail, but Tony found himself biting back a smile at the thought of the dangerous man with children’s socks on his feet. _How odd_.

“I don't mean to pry,” Tony said suddenly as the masked man shook out his arms, sleeves pulling tight around his biceps. “But do you happen to have ten rings as your coat of arms?”

The man’s eyes boggled, and Tony stared evenly back at the blue that mirrored the sky behind them. “Do you always start conversations like that with strangers?”

“Not frequently, and that wasn't really the start of our conversation either,” Tony pointed out.

The masked man cocked his head, “Why do you ask?”

“My father was killed by a man who wore those arms,” Tony said. “In my terror, I’ve never remembered his killer’s name. Only those rings.”

“You saw it happen,” the man realised. “How old were you?”

Tony shrugged. “Young. I've learned to pay better attention since. He was a genius, my father, a weapon maker of the highest calibre.”

The words came tumbling from his lips, and Tony couldn't understand why.

He was about to fight this masked stranger, possibly kill him, or be killed by him. And maybe it was that knowledge that had loosened his tongue. Despite cavalier words about too many things left tying him to life, Tony had started weighing his chances realistically from the moment he’d said ‘hello’ to the masked man, and the odds weren't great. His opponent was incredibly strong, confusingly polite, and compassionate enough to Tony’s love of his mother to trust him with the other end of a rope that his life had depended on. The only thing left to see was the masked man’s skill with the sword at his belt.

And either way, Tony won nothing. Winning the fight only meant returning to Stone’s clutches, and _not_ winning meant death at best - _at best_ because Tony had long ago learned that dying was easy, it was living that was truly difficult.

It felt like a last confession.

 _Not the worst confessional_ , Tony admitted to himself, looking back at the masked man. Despite his clear urgency in chasing after them and their captive before, he made no move now to strike Tony down and simply be on his way. He just steadily looked at Tony with those bright eyes in the eyeholes of his mask, sitting patiently, waiting like he knew Tony had more to say. So, Tony said more. He could always say more.

“I was in the ‘shop,” Tony looked down at the thick leather gloves on his hands and arms, hiding the old burns and scars from forge work. “Dad had gone back into the house for a drink and left me tinkering. Didn't hear anything off at first.” His mother’s final scream still featured frequently in Tony’s nightmares though. “Ran out to the house just to see a man with that coat of arms skewer Dad. I felt _so-_  he just- I challenged him to fight.”

Both their eyes dropped to the sword at Tony’s hip, the golden hilt gleaming brightly against the plain leather scabbard.

“Without a sword, too,” Tony scoffed angrily at his stupid younger self, “He cut me down easy,  of course, but I blew up the ‘shop and ran off in the chaos. I've dedicated my life since to the sword and finding that man since. Next time we meet, I won’t fail. I’ll go up to that man and say, ‘ _Hello, my name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die_ ’.”

“Dramatic,” the masked man said, but it sounded like it was said with approval. “So, you’ve done nothing but study swordplay?”

At that reminder, Tony had to wince. “Ah, well, I tried mostly, but I ran into some trouble along the way. It’s been more a long pursuit when I can manage it. Not helped by the fact that I don't remember his name. I _cannot_ seem to find this man.”

“I do hope you find him, someday,” the masked man said, rising to his feet.

“You’re ready, then?” Tony asked, hand moving to his sword.

The man shrugged his wide shoulders, “You’ve been more than fair, waiting for me like this.”

“You seem decent,” Tony said. “I hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fella, too. And I hate to die.”

Both men drew their swords and stood to face each other, postures loose and open as they crossed their blades between them. Tony took a deep breath, about to begin the duel, when the man suddenly raised his other hand.

“Ah! Wait,” he reached back and pulled his round shield off his back, setting it neatly to lean against the ruins to one side. There was some sort of pattern engraved on the dark metal surface, but it was facing away from the sun, in shadow, and Tony couldn't quite make it out. _All these damnable patterns_. “It seems fairer this way.”

Tony gave him a friendly tap with his sword to his blade, pulling back to a ready position. “Ready?”

A smirk pulled at the masked man’s lips, the sight of it sending Tony’s heart pounding. “Ready.”

And the fight began.

 

* * *

 

Her guard had been first in spotting the boats moored to the bottom of the cliff, still a mere speck to everyone else’s eyes, and started directing the fisherman immediately. The fisherman had been happy enough to offer his boat when Natasha had made herself known and hadn't questioned the horses onboard, or the Crown Princess on a mission, or even being bossed around by a man who was precariously perched near the top of the mast — a man apparently impervious to the seasickness that was affecting most of Count Stane’s men. Though not the Count himself.

He only smiled benignly and waved to his ears, something glowing blue in the hollows. “Something I picked up a long time ago. I couldn't have handled all my travels without them, Your Highness. I only have the one set, but if you need—”

“I’m fine,” Natasha said, returning her eyes to her target ahead.

The Count did the same. “They’re either brave or foolish to attempt those cliffs, the _Cliffs of Insanity_ , though I suppose they’ve managed it somehow. They must have been strong.”

He wasn't wrong. “There are two boats.”

“Your Highness?”

“But only one boat left the pier.”

The Count shuffled on his feet beside her, making the deck creak, “A larger party than we expected, perhaps? It seems they came prepared with reinforcements.”

“No,” Natasha shook her head, looking up the mast. “Different boats.”

The Count followed her gaze again, frowning as he spotted her guard wildly signalling Natasha with his hands, using only his legs to keep a hold to the mast, and so now sitting parallel to the deck below him. The Count looked at him as if he were insane. It wasn't the first time someone had looked at her guard that way. “Different, he says? Is he certain?”

They were different; one much older, the sail sun-bleached and patched, its wood scuffed and stained; the other boat was newer, with black sails that had been carefully tied, its wood dark but highly polished.

“Different,” Natasha repeated, translating the hand signs. “Different parties. We’re possibly not the only ones after my betrothed.”

The Count grumbled to himself, plucking at the glowing baubles in his ears. “This complicates things. We should hurry. If we head east around the cliffs—”

“We’re going over the cliffs.”

“Ov- _over_ the cliffs?!” the Count spluttered, eyes darting between Natasha and the cliffs ahead.

“Sure. It’ll be fun.”

“Your Highness, surely you must know…"

“What I know is that we will lose far more time actively pursuing them navigating around the coast to the nearest harbour, and lose any track or trail they leave behind,” Natasha said, watching her guard slither down the mast and head over to the Count’s men to discuss something. Knowing her as well as he did, he probably already knew what Natasha intended to do next. “If we go around, you can only guess or assume where you believe the kidnappers are heading. And if you're wrong, we lose them entirely, and our country may go to war over something avoidable. No, Count Stane, we go over.”

She let the Count splutter on. “And how are we to go over, Your Highness?”

“We climb,” she said simply. “We have the ropes and strength for it.”

“Very well, _we_ climb. But the horses, Your Highness?” the Count pressed. “Surely they cannot climb also, even if it is your will.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Natasha turned to see one of the men who’d accompanied them, standing at attention. “I might have some ideas for that, Your Highness. If you would permit me the use of the sails on those boats ahead.”

He seemed confident, enough for Natasha to give permission, only for the Count to interrupt, his barrel chest puffing up with indignation. “I didn't recall assigning you for this mission.”

“I volunteered, my Lord.”

“And who _are_ you?”

He wasn't one of the Count’s men, Natasha realised. She recognised his face from around the castle, though she didn't know the man’s name. According to the red eagle insignia on his dark surcoat, he was a member of the castle guard. He was one of _her_ men.

“Get him what he needs, Stane,” Natasha said. She didn't bother to look or listen to the Count stomp off, her eyes on the guard. He was smart enough not to leave without dismissal, and seemed less tense now he was away from under the Count’s eye. “Did my father send you?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“My mother?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“You volunteered yourself? How patriotic.”

“I swore an oath to protect your family, Your Highness.”

“Did all your fellow guardsman not pledge to do the same? And yet, you alone are here from the castle guard to protect me.” Natasha hadn’t seen anyone else dressed in her colours. They were all dressed in the grey and black of the Count’s colours.

“I'm not alone, Your Highness,” he answered easily, a small twitch of his right shoulder telling her that he knew he was being watched. He’d sensed the protective eyes of Natasha’s guard on him from behind. She was reluctantly impressed.

“You didn’t answer before, what is your name?”

“Rhodes, Your Highness.”

Natasha nodded, imprinting the name to her mind, “Rhodes. Tell me about these ideas of yours.”


	2. The Giant and The Masked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the masked man crosses blades, hammers, and wits, to kidnap what has been stolen...

####  **The Giant**

It was the most exhilarating fight Tony had ever been in.

He hadn't felt so enthralled since the first time he’d entered his father’s workshop. Both he and the masked man moved as though in synchrony, like a dance, nimbly dashing over the rocks and dirt about the ruins on the clifftop, their only music the clinks and clashes of blade to blade. Every feint one pulled, the other countered. Each lunge, met with a parry. Attack, and then riposte.

Tony hadn't had so much fun in  _years_.

It felt as though they were reading each other’s minds, easily predicting almost all that the other would do. But only almost. Despite the masked man’s bigger size and heavily muscled body, he repeatedly took to the air in leaps and twists, easily as a cat. Tony would be looking at him one moment, only to have him somehow appear on his other side by way of an impossibly high jump.

Honestly, he wasn't sure whether to feel more intimidated or aroused — competence and skill had always attracted him. Tony just scrambled after the man over the ruins and tried to ignore the pressure in his trousers. It was definitely from the fun of the fight and nothing more.

Not that it _mattered_ , he reminded himself, they were supposed to be fighting to the death. _Focus, Tony_. Their blades clashed again, as the masked man started forcing Tony to retreat, step by step, the sheer power behind his sword greater than Tony’s. Probably down to those biceps of his, very distracting they were.

“You are wonderful,” Tony crowed, grinning despite being backed closer and closer to the cliff edge, telling himself that the words were strictly about the swordplay.

“Thank you!” the masked man beamed at him, and _good_ _gods_ , that was even more distracting than the biceps. “I’ve worked hard to become so.”

He forced Tony another step back, and Tony hurriedly knocked aside a quick strike from the masked man’s sword, the blade narrowly missing him. “I’ll admit, I think you're better than I at the sword.”

“Then, why are you smiling?”

“Well, swordplay is just  _one_ of my many talents,” Tony said, relishing the flush that bloomed on the man’s cheeks just below the mask, _how delightful_. “But mostly, I'm smiling because I know something you don’t.”

“And what is that?”

“I… am not left-handed.”

With a deft flick, Tony tossed his sword to his right hand, and struck sharply at the masked man, surprising him into retreat. The man was strong and spry, but Tony could be graceful too, and where he lacked in raw strength he made up for in cunning. He hadn't been pushed back all that way in their fight for nothing. Tony had been paying attention, and what was once an entirely unpredictable combat strategy to tackle, was now only _fairly_ unpredictable.

He relished how the other man’s eyes popped wide after Tony predicted where he’d land from another dizzying jump, sword already cutting through the air to strike at him and only narrowly missing. There was a rush in his veins as Tony managed to counter attack after attack, pushing the masked man now, further back and up onto the ruins.

And then the man was up against a half-crumbled column, Tony still advancing, the space between them shortening until their swords crossed again under the masked man’s chin. The sharp blades pressed lightly against the pale skin, and Tony took another step closer.

For a moment that felt like much longer, the two men stood there, neither one moving. Tony was certain he could almost feel the pulse of the man’s beating heart, so close as they were, but for the life of him, he _could not_ press forward with his sword. A sharp flick, a quick turn of his wrist, and the man’s throat could be slit and the job would be done, and Tony would be free to catch up with Thor and the others. It wouldn't even be the first time Tony had killed a man. It was so simple, Tony was _sure_ he could do it. Any second now. He was just catching his breath—

Remarkably, as the moment drew on, the masked man began to grin. “You’re amazing!”

Tony told himself it would be ridiculous to blush, even if it had been a long time since he’d last had sincere praise from someone other than Thor. It didn't matter anyway, his face was only flushed from the fight. He pressed forward on the blades again, “I ought to be after all these years.”

“There’s something I probably ought’a tell you, too,” the man said.

“Go on.”

The bright grin sharpened to a razor smirk that had Tony’s heart skipping, “I am not left-handed either.”

Those broad shoulders bunched up, and Tony was faced with that raw power again as the man pushed him away, sending him stumbling back. In the time it took for Tony to steady himself, the masked man had switched his sword to his right hand. He raised his sword and squared his feet, and Tony could only gape at the man in wonder.

The smirk softened slightly, playful once more, as the masked man dipped his head to Tony. “Ready?”

Tony could only smile back and raise his sword. “Ready.”

And the fight began again.

 

* * *

  

They were nearing the cliffs now and the Count was unnecessarily bossing the fisherman and his men on where to moor the boat, but Natasha found herself watching Rhodes. He was hastily sketching out some design on a scrap of fabric using a stick of charcoal he’d pulled out of nowhere, instructing a few men around him on whatever contraption he’d thought up. Natasha hoped it would get the horses up the cliffs. He seemed confident.

The faintest squeak of leather was all that gave away her guard’s presence beside her, but it was more warning than anyone else got.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked him quietly, tipping her chin at Rhodes.

Her guard shrugged.

“Do you know much about him?”

He shook his head. “He's quiet.”

“I don't remember seeing him often around the castle.”

“The Queen.”

Natasha frowned, turning away from Rhodes now. “He’s one of my mother’s men?” Her guardsman nodded, and Natasha’s frown deepened. “And yet he said she did not send him.”

“Too low.”

“A lower guard? Even stranger,” Natasha huffed.

“Dangerous?” her guard asked, tensing up.

“Possibly,” Natasha admitted. “But dangerous for who?”

“M’watching him,” the guardsman said, face set with grim determination. _No one_ got past him to the Princess on his watch.

Natasha nodded, absently watching as her guard scrambled back up the mast with his bare hands. When he was back at the top, eyes on everyone below, Natasha set forward to where Rhodes was scribbling something else on his sketches. She wanted to inspect those designs for herself.

 

* * *

 

“Who _are_ you?” Tony asked, ducking a swipe of the masked man’s sword.

“No one of consequence,” the man easily replied, not half as out of breath as Tony was getting.

“I must know,” Tony insisted, with a thrust of his sword. One that the masked man parried, fast as lightning.

“Get used to disappointment,” the masked man said.

“Oh, I'm very familiar with that, handsome,” Tony huffed, sweat stinging in his eyes. The other man only seemed to be getting faster as the fight progressed. Or perhaps Tony was getting slower. He hadn't had a fight go on for so long before, the skill of both opponents were too close to make the duel reach a swift end.

“Handsome?” the man spluttered, and incredibly Tony saw that rosy colour bloom across his cheeks again.

“Well, if you’re not gonna give me a name, I'm gonna have to make one up.”

“But, handsome? Really?”

“You cannot be telling me this is the first you’re hearing that.”

“You can’t even see my face.”

“I can see your eyes,” Tony pointed out as he took a swipe with his sword, _missed_ _goddamnit_ , biting back a grin as those rosy cheeks darkened and the man stumbled on a cross-step.

And yet another reason this fight was the longest he’d been in. Because they both kept getting distracted by the goddamn back-and-forth they had going. Tony was used to sharing a bit of banter, throwing out a cheesy one-liner or dropping a scathing last remark with his opponents, but never whole  _conversations_.

This was supposed to be a fight to the death, and Tony was currently arguing over the handsomeness of his opponent instead.

This was  _ridiculous_.

Tony had to remind himself not to smile.

 

* * *

 

The men were scuttling about, cutting through sailcloths and measuring rope, obedient under Rhodes’ firm commands. He seemed surprisingly comfortable giving orders to a group of men who technically outranked him, he hadn’t even hesitated to drag Natasha’s personal guard into his efforts.

He seemed to be avoiding the Count, though the Count’s eyes were studying him with great interest.

The harnesses were coming together quickly for the horses, and Natasha was getting antsy looking up the towering cliffs.

“So we will soon have the means of carrying the horses up,” the Count said. “But I see no way for us of reaching the top. There is no pulley for us to use, no rope, nothing. I’m sorry, your Highness, but I believe this effort over the cliffs is futile. We should—”

“Barton!” Natasha called out.

Clint Barton, her guard, didn't need another word to know what the Princess meant. Natasha watched him scramble back up the mast of their ship, a long coil of rope looped over one arm. He stared up the cliff-face, pulling the longbow from over his shoulder.

The Count gaped. “Your Highness, your faith in your guard’s skills are admirable, but a shot from that distance is impossible! He could never reach the top - it’s inconceivable!”

“I don't think he knows what that word means,” Natasha hummed. Clint nocked an arrow and drew back the string, the muscles in his shoulder bulging as he leaned back and aimed high, clinging incredibly to the mast with his legs.

For a moment, nobody breathed.

Then the air rippled with a _thwap_ as he let the arrow loose, and all eyes followed it up and up and up, as the arrow sailed through the air and buried itself deep into the cliff face, only a few feet from the top. A rope at the end of the arrow whipped against the rock-face, and dangled all the way down to the boats.

Rhodes hurried forward and caught the end.

Natasha looked smugly at the Count at her side. “And now we climb.”

 

* * *

 

His heart was hammering in his chest, pumping the blood quickly through his body desperately trying to keep the energy going, but Tony could feel himself flagging. He could almost taste the end of the fight. In a sword fight against the masked man, Tony knew now that he was going to lose. For all of the light-heartedness of the duel, the other man was not giving an inch. He was going to get through Tony, one way or another, at this point he was only waiting for Tony to tire out or falter.

It happened soon enough. A sharp flick of the masked man’s sword, and Tony felt his sword sent flying out of his grip, weaponless now before the other man.

Tony raised his hands calmly at the feel of cold metal at his throat, but the masked man had made no sudden motion to end Tony’s life. “What do you want with our prisoner?”

Those blue eyes were piercing on him. “It’s a long story, and unfortunately I don't have the time right now to explain. Our duel went on longer than anticipated.”

“Do you mean to kill him?” Tony pressed for an answer. “Are you going to hurt him?”

The eyes didn’t waver, and the masked man’s lips pressed thin. “Why do you ask?”

“We took him because of his status,” Tony said. “He’s done no wrong except accept a marriage contract with the wrong person. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt for that.”

“And I suppose you and your associates weren’t planning to harm him,” the man drawled.

Tony bit back a growl, and glared at the masked man for the first time. “Don’t hurt him.”

“You’re not really in a position to be making demands, Stark.”

There actually _was_ something that Tony could do, to suddenly flip the tables and win the fight. One last trick up his metaphorical and physical sleeve. A swift and definitive end guaranteed against any opponent. But it was a one-shot end Tony had been saving up, meant for another, waiting to be used for over twenty years. To use it now on the masked man…

That was the real question here — was Bucky worth using it or not?

Tony’s hands clenched in the air, “Please.”

The masked man paused, the end of his blade still held against Tony’s throat, before nodding, “He means a great deal to me. I don’t intend for any harm to come to Bucky.”

The words felt true.

Or at least, Tony couldn’t detect a lie in them, and so he nodded and fell to his knees. Tilting his head to one side, Tony let his hands fall and closed his eyes. He was ready. It was only fair. More than.

“Kill me quickly.”

But the cold metal left his throat, abruptly replaced by the warmth of skin.

Tony startled at the touch, eyes snapping open to find the masked man’s face hovering before him. He was leaning over him, looming almost, the sun rising at his back as his fingertips slowly slid along Tony’s throat, pressing at the bruises left by Stone. The touch was surprisingly gentle, and Tony wondered what could possibly be so interesting about his neck for the other man to stare so keenly. Wondered if the other man could feel the flutter of his pulse, or the shiver that went through Tony, though the man seemed impervious to the tension thrumming in the air.

With a light touch, the masked man tilted Tony’s head up to face him. He looked at Tony, thumb smoothing over the bristles on Tony’s chin, and said, “I would no sooner destroy a stained-glass window, as an artist like yourself.”

His thumb tugged a little at Tony’s bottom lip, and Tony couldn’t _breathe_.

“However - I can’t have you following and stopping me either,” the masked man sighed, and dropped his hand. Tony saw a determined frown settle on the man’s face as he looked away, avoiding meeting his eyes now. “Please understand.”

Tony didn’t have time to question what there was _to_ understand, before the masked man’s hand whipped out, the hilt of his sword smacking Tony sharply in the temple, and knocking his world into sudden darkness.

 

* * *

 

“If you keep looking back we’ll never reach the border before sunset!” Stone screeched, but Thor didn't bother listening. He still looked back down the rocky path and over the fields they’d already crossed.

It left Bucky - still slung over one of Thor’s massive shoulders - with a clear view of Stone’s slowly purpling face.

“Stark should be on his way by now,” Thor said lowly.

Stone scoffed, “ _If_ he lives.”

“He lives!” Thor insisted, turning quickly on the spot. Bucky couldn’t see what expression was on the blond giant’s face, but Stone stayed quiet for a long stretch as the trio continued on to the border of Guilder.

He couldn’t see Stone anymore, but Bucky was now in the perfect position to see the speck of a person starting to run over the fields toward them. Someone distinctly _not_ wearing the pale shirt and brown leather vest that Stark wore. Bucky’s stomach twisted up and crumpled all of a sudden, and it had nothing to do with the shoulder digging into his belly.

Bucky patted Thor on the back with his bound hands, “Thor, pal…”

Thor turned, and Bucky felt the instant Thor spotted who it was that was catching up to them, and who distinctly _wasn’t_ following. The bigger man tensed, every muscle locking up for a long moment, before deflating with a shudder. “No,” Thor whispered, voice catching. “No…”

Bucky’s eyes closed in sympathy, listening to the waver in Thor’s voice.

They snapped open at the angry scoff in front of him.

Stone was glaring down the path too, obviously having spotted the masked man too. “I should have known,” Stone spat. “He couldn’t even do this _one_ thing… Fine! Thor, put the Soldier down.”

Thor gently set Bucky on his feet beside him, looking in a daze still at the dark figure sprinting over the fields. “Stark—” Thor gulped, turning to look down at Stone. “Do you think he—”

“He’s probably dead, the swine,” Stone grumbled, instantly killing the hopeful glimmer in Thor’s eyes. “I have to do everything myself!”

“Oh…” Thor blinked quickly, his eyes wet. “Oh, no…”

Stone didn’t see to notice, still muttering darkly under his breath as he rooted through his bag. But Bucky reached over to pat Thor on the arm. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

The big man bowed his head, speaking lowly like a whisper. Bucky doubted it was like Stone’s angry cursing of Stark. It sounded more like a lament, the words small and full of grief.

“Right, give him to me,” Stone ordered Thor, cutting through the moment and pulling out the curved blade from his bag as he roughly grabbed for Bucky. “You’ll have to catch up to us.”

“What?”

“Finish him, and catch up to us!” Stone barked.

“Finish him…” Thor echoed slowly, looking back over to where the masked man was catching up to them, zipping quickly across the open grass. The dazed look was still on his face, and Bucky thought the big man was in shock.

“Yes!” Stone huffed, losing patience and starting to drag Bucky further up the rocky path. “Just stop him your way.”

“My way,” Thor repeated. “Which way is my way?”

Stone waved the curved blade in his hand at the boulders dotting the path, “Wait behind one of those boulders, and in a few minutes that masked man will come running around the bend. The moment he does, bash his head in with your hammer! Is that clear enough for you?”

Thor frowned, “My way does not seem very sportsmanlike.”

Stone growled angrily up at the sky, before turning back to Thor. “That man probably killed Stark. Think of  _that_ while you’re arguing over sportsmanship!”

The frown on Thor’s brow settled deeper, a dark look passing over his face as he nodded solemnly. Bucky watched him pull his hammer off his belt, and head for one of the larger boulders to hide behind.

“Finally!” Stone hissed, pushing Bucky onwards, the curved blade digging into his back.

 

* * *

 

The masked man had reached the rocky path and continued running upwards, slowing only as he neared a lot of big boulders. He moved more cautiously, wary of all the hiding places about, all perfect for an ambush. He didn’t draw his sword yet, though he kept a ready hand on the hilt, taking careful steps around the boulders.

He still jumped when a rock was thrown, smashing into a boulder in front of him and missing his head by mere inches.

The masked man turned to face his attacker, drawing his sword.

Thor stepped out from behind a boulder, his hammer dangling from one hand, glaring at the masked man. “I did that on purpose. I didn’t have to miss.”

“I believe you,” the masked man said, taking him in.

Thor was taller than him and just as broad, his ragged grey shirt not hiding his considerable muscles in the slightest. But it was his dark expression that put the masked man off the most. There was an air about the bigger man that sparked with danger.

As Thor took a step closer, the masked man edged slightly back.

“The swordsman,” Thor said, voice soft despite the anger in his eyes. “What did you do to him?”

The masked man paused, “Excuse me?”

“Is he dead?!” Thor boomed, making the other man jump.

He watched as Thor flicked a wrist, and started spinning his hammer by the strap, faster and faster until it was nearly a blur. It wasn’t a technique he’d ever seen used before. The masked man was certain he could feel the hairs on his body begin standing on end.

“Did you kill my friend?!”

The rage in his voice hitched on the last word, and the masked man relaxed a little, shaking his head. “We fought, and I defeated him, but I didn’t kill your friend,” he told Thor. “I left him alive but unconscious by the cliff.”

Thor searched his face for the truth, his hammer spinning all the while, but the masked man was calmer now. In fact, he was almost smiling. “Why are you smiling?”

“I admire your loyalty,” the masked man replied. “Your friend is lucky to have you.”

All at once, that dark looming danger that cloaked Thor disappeared, and the honest grin that stretched across his face was like sunshine after a rainstorm. “I’m lucky to have him also,” Thor said, catching the hammer and stopping the spinning.

The masked man blinked. “You believe me just like that?”

“Of course not,” Thor chuckled. “But I have been told to kill you, whether you lie or not, so it makes little difference to you.”

"I see." The masked man waited. “So, what happens now?”

“Now — we fight!” Thor charged at the masked man, roaring as he lifted his hammer up to strike.

The other man dropped his sword, and instead reached behind to grab his round shield. He raised it just in time for shield to meet hammer, the blow shaking both men from the force and throwing them apart through the air. The grass all around them was flattened outward in a circle from the force of the impact.

Thor landed roughly, thrown back head over heels, the breath knocked out of him as he belly-flopped into the grass. He pushed up onto his hands and boggled at the hammer still in his grip.

“Huh!” Thor seemed stunned. “I have never seen such a thing happen.”

The masked man had landed on his back, curled almost entirely under his shield.  He sat up with a grunt, and looked over at Thor, “Hasn’t happened to me before either.”

They got to their feet again, brushing off dirt and grass, eyeing each other much more carefully now. Thor’s eyes lingered on the shield. It didn’t look particularly special, a simple five-pointed star etched over the middle, but it had held up against the might of his arm and his hammer. It was obviously not a normal shield.

“Well,” the masked man said. “Fighting like that isn’t gonna work.”

Thor nodded, “We would be at perpetual stalemate. Unless you tire before me. What are we to do then?”

“You could just let me pass,” the other man suggested.

But by the half-smile on his face, he guessed that Thor wouldn’t just step aside so easily. Thor grinned, “Then we shall have to fight truly! Sportsmanlike; no tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”

The masked man glanced at the hammer, “You mean, you’ll put down your hammer, and I’ll put down my shield, and we’ll try to kill each other like civilised folk?”

Thor smiled brightly, lazily swinging the hammer, “Do you have a better idea?”

The masked man sighed and shook his head, tossing his shield to one side. Thor nodded, and let his hammer drop at his feet, letting it land with a heavy _thud_ that shook the ground.

Then the two men started circling each other, arms raised ready to fight.

Thor let the other man make the first move this time. The masked man charged with a yell, fists snapping forward in a flurry at his torso. Hitting Thor was more like hitting a stone wall than another person, every hit surely hurt his own fists just as much to land.

Still, Thor grunted at the impact, surprise on his face. It had been a very long time since he’d faced an opponent as strong as this. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to take a proper hit, and started batting back at the punches. Their skill seemed almost a match. It was a stalemate all over again.

The masked man got his arms around Thor and tried to throw him over, and failed miserably. He was  _heavy_. It felt more like he was giving the bigger man a bear hug than fighting him. It didn’t help that Thor was beaming down at him all the while.

He stepped back and huffed, “Are you just messing with me, or what?”

Thor shrugged, “I want you to feel like you’re doing well. It’s not my fault being bigger. I don’t even exercise.”

If it came down to pure physical strength, the masked man guessed he would probably lose. But a fight wasn’t all pure strength. Despite the smile on his face, he could tell Thor was also still angry. He had no reason to believe the masked man had left his friend alive after all, and the masked man knew that angry people were often quicker to act, and quicker to make mistakes.

He just had to get the bigger man moving first.

The masked man threw a few more punches at Thor, bouncing lightly on his toes, before Thor lunged forward. He reached out to snatch up the masked man, only for the other man to spin and dive and slip behind Thor, jumping back on his feet as quick as a flash.

Thor turned again to face him, “You’re fast.”

“Good thing, too,” the masked man said.

“May I ask you something?” Thor said, taking another swipe with one meaty fist.

The masked man ducked, “If you must.”

“Why do you wear a mask?” Thor asked. “Have you been horribly burned? Are you disfigured in some terrible way?”

“Oh, no,” the masked man shook his head. “It’s to hide my identity from my enemies. But it’s pretty comfortable too.”

“I see,” Thor nodded, before charging at the masked man again.

The masked man dived out of the way again, and this time leapt on Thor’s back. He clung to Thor, wrapping his legs around his waist, before locking his arms around his neck and starting to squeeze, tighter and tighter.

Thor spluttered against the hold on his throat, “ _Ack!_ You are… more trouble... than I expected…!” He spun around quickly trying to shake the masked man off him. But the other man held tight.

“Why is that you think—  _Oof!_ ” the masked man lost his breath as Thor threw himself backward against a nearby boulder, squashing the masked man under his weight.

Still, the man held on. “Well, I haven’t fought someone… near as strong as I… in a long time…” Thor charged for another boulder, throwing himself backwards onto it once again.

The masked man wheezed, but didn’t let up on the tight grip around Thor’s windpipe. “So you are out of practise?”

“It… seems so…” Thor rasped. He tried prying the arms off his throat, but his hands didn’t seem able to grip as they should, and his vision was greying around the edges.

Thor took a staggering step, and fell to one knee, and still the other man kept the tight squeeze around his throat. Air was becoming more scarce with each breath.

“I should…” Thor fell forward, onto his hands and knees now. His head was pounding, he could feel it painfully, as though the masked man had trapped his heart above his neck, and it was beating like a deafening drum between his ears. “I should… work on that… prepare...”

He tried to crawl, to move somehow and throw the masked man off his back. But Thor could feel himself fading, his strength slipping away.

In desperation, he thrust out one hand to his hammer, feeling in his heart where it was without having to look.

But the hammer didn’t budge, didn’t shake, didn’t even tremble, and definitely didn’t answer his call. It hadn’t in many years. It was foolish to hope it would answer now.

He slumped, flat against the ground, the masked man on top feeling heavier by the second. “I don’t envy the headache waiting for you when you wake,” the masked man said.

Eyes closing, Thor let himself fall into darkness calling to him.

 

* * *

 

####  **The Masked Man**

Natasha squinted at the ground, studying the scuff marks and boot prints in the dirt carefully, stepping into one set of the footprints herself.

She waved a hand, and Clint appeared quickly at her side. Natasha only had to point to the set of footprints - a different set, she deduced, from the bigger size, and no wear on the heels - for him to step into them himself. Then they raised an arm each, and started leaping about the place, keeping to a set of footprints each, and slowly miming out a fight.

It seemed to encompass the whole area around the ruins, and they jumped easily following the tracks, ignoring their audience. The Count stood watching, his horse in the care of the dozen soldiers behind him already mounted on horses. Natasha and Clint’s own horses waited contently by Rhodes, the reins for both in his hand as he sat on his own steed.

“There was a long duel,” Natasha said, as she jumped down some stones with an elegant twirl to meet Clint, the edge of her hand meeting his, pinky to pinky, pretending it was sword to sword. “It moved all over the area.”

“They’re both good, then,” Rhodes concluded.

“Masters,” Clint corrected him, gently tapping his hand to Natasha’s again.

“Who won?” the Count asked. “How did it end?”

Dropping her arm, Natasha crouched closer to the ground, frowning at whatever she was reading in the dirt. “The loser fell here,” she said eventually, before pointing to one side. “Ran off alone.”

She stood and pointed in the opposite direction.

“The winner followed those footprints.”

“They make for Guilder!” the Count shouted, climbing up onto his horse. “Shall we follow them both? I can have half my men—”

“No,” Natasha said. “We don’t have time if we’re to catch up to the Soldier before they reach the border. Leave the loser.”

Rhodes handed the Princess and Clint their reins, before finding himself shunted to the back of the group by the Count’s men. He didn’t bother saying a word, more concerned with keeping his eyes scanning their surroundings.

“Clearly this was all planned by those in Guilder,” the Count said. “Could this be a trap?”

Natasha vaulted onto her horse, “I always think everything could be a trap - which is why I’m still alive.”

 

* * *

 

The masked man ran over the top of a hill to find Stone waiting for him.

Stone had laid out what seemed like a picnic spread on a low boulder. Wine, cheese, fruit, and a pair of goblets were set on the boulder, but the masked man barely glanced at the food. His attention was fixed on Bucky, sat at Stone’s side with a blindfold over his eyes and a curved dagger pressed to his neck. The masked man slowed to a stop seeing the poisonous look pinching Stone’s face.

“So, the other two are dead, I assume,” Stone spat. “Biggest wastes of space I ever had.”

Bucky stiffened at the words, and the masked man started forward again.

Stone dug the dagger harder to Bucky’s neck, “If you wish him dead, then by all means, keep moving forward!”

The masked man froze, and Stone’s lips curled into a nasty grin. “Let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to kidnap what I’ve rightfully stolen!”

“Maybe we can reach some sort of arrangement.”

“There’ll be no arrangement,” Stone said, jabbing at Bucky’s neck with the dagger. Bucky grunted as blood beaded at the knife tip, but didn’t make another sound.

The masked man gritted his teeth, jaw jutting sharply, “If there’s no arrangement to be had, then we are at an impasse.”

“So it seems,” Stone said. “I can’t beat you physically, and you’d be no match to my brains.”

“Really? That smart, huh?”

“Yes,” Stone said smugly. “I have some of the most dangerous and powerful people in my back-pocket, all because of the things I know. And all the things I know, I know because of my brain. There is none like mine in the world.”

“Then, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

“To the death?”

The masked man nodded.

“I accept.”

“Great,” the masked man said, sitting on the ground across from Stone. “Pour the wine.”

As Stone poured wine into the goblets, the masked man reached into one of the pockets on his belt. He took out a small paper packet, opened it carefully, and held it out to Stone.

“Smell this, but don’t touch.”

Stone sniffed. “I smell nothing.”

“What you don’t smell is iocane powder,” the masked man explained. “Odourless, tasteless, instantly dissolves in liquid, and one of the more deadlier poisons to the common man.”

He took the goblets, and turned his back to Stone for a moment, before turning back and setting the goblets down again. He dropped the now empty packet of iocane powder between them. One goblet sat before each of them and the masked man smirked at Stone.

“Alright - where is the poison? Here is your battle of wits. It ends when you’ve picked, and we’ve drunk, and we find out who is right and who is dead.”

Stone scoffed, “But it’s so simple! All I have to do is understand you and your mind - and understanding what makes a man tick is one of my finer talents. Are you the sort of man to put the poison in his own goblet, or his enemy’s?”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Not remotely,” Stone said. “Now, a clever man would put the poison in his own goblet, because he’d know that only a fool would reach for what he was given. I'm not a fool, so I clearly can’t choose the wine in front of you. But you must’ve known I was not a fool, you would have counted on it, so I clearly can’t choose the wine in front of me either.”

The masked man leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, “Truly, a dizzying intellect.”

Stone puffed up, preening at the praise. “Just wait till I get going!”

“By all means.”

“You beat my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong. You could have put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you. So I clearly can’t choose the wine in front of you.”

“You’re just stalling now,” the masked man huffed, sitting back.

“Now wait!” Stone leaned forward now too. “You also bested my swordsman, which means you must have studied. And in studying, you must have learned of man’s mortality, so would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I clearly can’t choose the wine in front of me.”

“If you’re trying to trick me into giving something away—”

“You already have!” Stone cackled. “You’ve given it all away - I know where the poison is!”

“Then make your choice.”

“I will, I choose—” his voice cut off, eyes widening at something behind the masked man. “What the hell is that?!”

The masked man turned to look, and while his back was turned, Stone quickly switched the goblets between them. By the time the other man was facing him again, Stone was nearly shaking with laughter, a nasty grin on his face again and vicious triumph gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, my mistake. I’m sure I saw something.” He plucked up the goblet now in front of him, holding it up. “Nevermind. Shall we drink now?”

The masked man took up his own goblet, tilting his cup to Stone in salute, before bringing the wine to his lips and gulping it down.

Stone watched with glee as the other man started drinking first, before knocking back his own wine. He hardly waited to let it go down, before spluttering with laughter.

The masked man frowned at him, confused, “You guessed wrong. Why are you laughing?”

“You only _think_ I guessed wrong!” Stone snickered, shaking a victorious fist in the air. “That’s what’s making me laugh! I switched the goblets when your back was turned - you fool!” The masked man’s eyes darted between the empty goblets. “Now you will die, and soon so too the Winter Soldier, and I will be rich beyond imagining. I could buy an island - no - a country! I’ll become a king myself, just you watch! Haha!”

And so the masked man did watch, as Stone froze quite suddenly, vicious triumph on his face still, and fell over.

Dead.

The masked man hardly spared Stone another glance as he stepped around Stone’s prone body, removing the blindfold and bindings from Bucky.

Bucky stared down at Stone’s dead face, “Huh… so you had the poisoned wine all along.”

“They were both poisoned,” the masked man corrected him, pulling Bucky to his feet. “I just happen to have developed an immunity to most deadly things. Iocane powder included.”

Bucky turned his stare to the masked man now, eyes assessing, though he didn’t make any move to flee or fight. “Who are you?”

“The man with the better plan,” the masked man said, before he started leading Bucky off the path and into unknown terrain.

 

* * *

 

Natasha knelt on the rocky ground, brushing at a disturbed patch of dirt and flattened grass. Clint stood at her back as expected, but the Count had elected to remain on his horse with his men this time.

“Another fight?” the Count asked.

“A fight with a giant of a man,” Natasha said, standing up. “Both gone now.”

The Count started scanning the surroundings nervously, “Someone beat a giant?”

“Yes,” Natasha swung back onto her horse. “They seem to have continued on to the border.”

“Guilder will suffer greatly, if the Soldier dies!” the Count swore, before leading the group charging up the path on the hillside.

 

* * *

 

The masked man towed Bucky over many open plains, nothing around them but green grass and the pale grey sky.

But Bucky stumbled now and then, though tugged ever onwards. It had been days since he’d eaten well and longer still since he’d slept. He knew himself enough to know he could push past the exhaustion on a normal day, but that climb up that sheer cliffside in the morning had really rattled him. Add then the quick and successive demise of each of his kidnappers, it had been jarring to realise that he felt sad and angry at their loss.

Well, Stone could suck it.

Stark and Thor though, they’d been acting under orders, bound indefinitely themselves under a cruel master, and yet able to be kind still to Bucky.

Thor had offered him his own coat - long left abandoned now - and laughter, and a shared passion and longing for _True Love_. And Stark… he’d spoken words as sharp as his blade, but the swordsman's hands had been gentle. With him, Bucky knew, what they’d shared had been  _loss_ and the living beyond it,  _surviving_. He’d seen that familiar desperate look in Stark’s eyes as he saw in his own when he dared to glance in the mirror. A man that was still him, still Bucky, but also unrecognisable. A shadow of the man he’d once been. A ghost.

And this masked man… Bucky glared fiercely at him after another tug on his arm when he tripped again. The man looked back the way they’d come, and deemed it acceptable to stop for a moment. “Catch your breath.”

“M’fine,” Bucky growled back at him, ignoring the sweat dampening his back. “If you let me go now, you can get away. I won’t tell them about you. I promise.”

“And what’s that worth? The promise of the Winter Soldier,” the masked man scoffed. “You’re real funny, your Highness.”

The man was _angry_ with him, Bucky realised.

Not that sort of anger some people had against a crown, or over the sort of work Bucky had once done, or even over politics. It was some strange sort of personal anger. With his back to him Bucky couldn’t check again, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t met the masked man before.

“It doesn’t matter where you take me, the Princess is one of the world’s greatest trackers. She could track a falcon on a cloudy day. She’ll find us.”

“A falcon, huh…” The masked man shrugged, still watching all around them, voice mocking, “You think your dearest love will save you?”

“I never said she was my love. But she’ll save me, yes.”

The masked man’s chest puffed up, and he turned back to glare daggers at Bucky, nostrils flared and shoulders bunched up. “So you admit you don’t love your fiancée!”

Bucky stared back at the man, nonchalant with his reply, “She knows I do not love her.”

“Are not _capable_ of love, you mean.”

 _Alright_ , now Bucky was starting to get angry. “I have loved more deeply than a man like you could ever dream!”

The masked man stepped forward, something dangerous enough in his stance to make Bucky flinch, but he refused to step back. He lifted his chin and straightened his back. Let the man hit him and see what would happen if you struck the former Winter Soldier. But the masked man didn’t move to hit him. The dark glare he shot Bucky seemed enough for the man, turning away as he muttered to himself, “A man like me…”

 

* * *

 

Clint prodded the dead body with the end of his bow, apparently both fascinated and suspicious about such a gleeful look on a dead face.

Natasha was more interested in the abandoned picnic spread next to him. Picking up an empty paper packet, she carefully took a sniff, nodding to herself, before holding it out to a surprised Rhodes by her side.

Rhodes accepted the packet, nonplussed, and took a sniff.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked him.

“I can’t smell anything,” Rhodes replied.

Natasha nodded again, “Neither could I. It’s iocane powder.”

Clint pointed further up the rocky trail they stood around, “The Soldier’s footprints lead that way. He was alive an hour ago at least.”

“Let’s go,” Natasha said as she leapt back onto her horse to continue the pursuit.

Rhodes found himself pushed back from her side by a grey stallion, the Count looking down his nose at the soldier with beady eyes. He met the stare steadily back as the Count followed after the Princess, and didn’t make any protest as the Count’s men nearly knocked him over following their master.

He waited patiently, stood firmly in place, until the only ones left were himself and Clint.

The guard was stood by his horse watching Rhodes. Clint gave him a searching look, eyes darting between Rhodes and the backs of the Count’s men, but Rhodes didn’t know what the man was looking for from him. Neither man said a word as they pulled themselves up onto their horses and caught up to the rest of the group.

 

* * *

 

Bucky stopped running by the top of a ravine, dropping to sit on a rock and catching his breath. The masked man had increased their speed after the last break, maybe from the fear of anyone following, though Bucky thought it was more likely him trying to outrun his temper. For whatever reason the man was still furious with Bucky.

“Rest, your Highness,” the man sneered, and Bucky’d had _enough_.

“I know who you are.”

The man said nothing, didn’t even seem bothered, so Bucky kept talking.

“Your cruelty reveals yourself - you’re the Dread Pirate Nomad. Admit it.”

“With pride,” the masked man said, bowing mockingly. “Though some call me Captain.”

“You can light yourself on fire, and be cut slowly into a thousand pieces, before being cast into the fucking oceans you’ve terrorised in life.”

“Language.”

“ _You killed my love!_ ”

The masked man stilled, watching him closely now, eyes shadowed in the eyeholes of his mask as he faced Bucky. “It’s possible. I’ve fought many people. Who was this _love_ of yours? Another Princess? Pampered, frail, and perky?”

“You’re lucky the Princess didn’t hear you say that,” Bucky hissed. “And no. He was a boy. We were poor as dirt, but it was perfect. He was perfect.” Bucky swallowed down the painful ache in his throat at the memories. But his eyes were dry. He hadn’t cried in years over this. Not since he’d had that terrible news delivered to him. There were no more tears to give. “And on the high seas, your ship attacked, and everyone knows that the Dread Pirate never takes prisoners.”

“Well, can’t afford to make any exceptions,” the masked man said blithely. “To let word get out of that happening, people start thinking I’m soft, and then people stop listening to you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work. You get no time to relax.”

“You think my suffering is _funny_?!” Bucky growled. “You’ll just laugh at my pain?”

“Life is pain!” the masked man roared, before snatching back his control, folding his arms across his wide chest. “Anyone who says differently is selling something… I do think I remember that boy though. Been, what, five years? Does any of this bother you to hear?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nothing you say could be worse than what I’ve been imagining.”

“He died well, you should know,” the masked man said. “Didn’t blubber or take any bribes. Just said he ‘needed to live, please’. Was the ‘please’ that got me. I asked him why he had to live so much, what was so important, and he said ‘True Love’. And he spoke of a boy of surpassing kindness and loyalty that needed him.”

Bucky couldn’t help a small sad smile at that, easily hearing the words in a voice long lost to him. But then the other man kept talking, wiping the bittersweet expression clean from his face.

“You should thank me for killing him, before he found out what you really are.”

“The hell would I thank you for?” Bucky glared. “And what do you think I am?”

“Such loyalty, he talked of, enduring faithfulness. But tell me, when you heard he was gone, did you wait even an hour, or a week, before getting engaged to your _Princess_?”

Bucky shot to his feet, “I died that day, as much as he did!”

The masked man opened his mouth to reply, but something behind them startled him, and he turned to watch a dust cloud rising from over a hill in the distance, the faint sound of horses growing closer.

While his broad back was turned, Bucky decided to take his chance. This man had taken too much from him. Who knew how many others like him there were around the world, mourning loved ones for years, paying their respects to empty graves, because of this _man_ , this _pirate_! And now Thor - Stark - _Enough!_

He could put a stop to it, right now, once and for all.

“You can die too!” Bucky snarled, before he shoved the masked man in the back. He watched the masked man fall over the edge, tumbling over and over down the side of the ravine, crashing wildly toward the flat rock at the foot of the valley.

“I can… do this… ALL… DAY!” the masked man yelled, voice carrying up the ravine though he kept rolling down the steep side.

All at once, it was like Bucky couldn’t move, frozen in one instance of time. As he had done only once before. One terrible day.

Blood pounding to a deafening crescendo in his ears, his eyes bugged so wide they hurt as he stared down after the shrinking figure of a man. Bucky shouted, “STEVIE?!”

And he knew, _he knew_ , he knew it was him.

It didn’t take any thinking about after that.

It never had.

Bucky promptly threw himself down the ravine after the masked man.

 

* * *

 

“See anything?” Natasha asked Clint, as they paused at the top of a hill.

He shook his head, squinting all around, “Thought I heard something, but I can’t tell where from.”

Natasha swore sharply, “We’ve lost the trail. He must have spotted us. Give me a moment to find—”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” the Count cut in. “The only route from here to the border is through the fire swamp.”

Angry at losing the trail, Natasha spurred her horse forward. “Move out!”

 

* * *

 

 _Fuck_ , Bucky ached all over from the fall, cut and bruised and hair a mess in his face. Something was shaking him gently though, and opening his eyes, he took in the face hovering over him.

“Steve?” he whispered, hardly daring to say the name too loud in case this wasn’t real.

The face above him split into a beaming grin, “Yeah, you jerk, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

“I-I thought you were smaller,” Bucky blinked.

A big hand cupped the side of his face, thumb tracing his cheekbone, “Yeah.”

“You… you have a _beard_! Since when can you grow a beard?!”

The mask had come off in the fall, and now Bucky could clearly see the other man’s face. The beard was different, obviously, the jaw squared out, hair longer too, and the body attached was entirely unfamiliar. But the dark brows furrowed over the long thin nose, the shape of that bottom lip, and those blue, blue eyes…

 _Steve_.

Bucky reached up to touch that unfamiliar familiar face, hardly daring to believe this dream though already he was running his fingers down that nose, digging into the thick beard.

The tears that had never come again to him in five years started stinging at Bucky’s eyes, not falling, but giving the world a hazy sheen. A space inside of him that had been in shadow since that day began to brighten, and the old memories that had been locked away, frozen in their innocence, slowly thawed in the new warm light.

“Can you move?” Steve asked him.

And, _oh_ , the deep voice hadn’t changed either. Bucky wondered if he hadn’t recognised it from missing it so long, or because he hadn’t _wanted_ to remember the voice that had hurt to forget. “Move? You’re _alive_ again. If you want, I could probably fly!”

Steve chuckled, “How about just sitting up for now?”

Helping him sit up, Bucky pushed back his hair, and stared and stared. And Steve was staring back, the look on his face no less happy, but much less gobsmacked. “You’re alive.”

“I am.”

“What happened to you?”

“I joined up with pirates.” The smile on Steve’s face faltered, and he looked away now, down at his hands which still hadn’t let go of Bucky’s own. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Well… you were dead.”

“Death can’t stop True Love,” Steve said, sincerity in every word, and how could Bucky have ever thought to forget that earnest way Steve could be sometimes? “It only delays it a little.”

“I won’t ever doubt that again,” Bucky promised him.

“You won’t need to,” Steve said.

He reached out to hold Bucky’s head in his hands, looking like he was soaking up every inch of his face, taking in every new scar, and the lines that time and grief had gifted him since they’d been parted.

Bucky was happy just to let him, and take in all the new changes in Steve himself.

A smile crackled across his face and Bucky leaned forward, stretching to meet forehead-to-forehead, just leaning against him for a moment, almost scared to close that last inch between them. Steve seemed happy to let him lead, for once.

Until at last Bucky couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist. Lifting a hand to the back of Steve’s neck, Bucky pulled him in, pulled him close, _closer_ , and kissed him.

A soft kiss, just lips pressed to lips, none of the urgency or anger raging minutes before. Only gentleness now. And when Bucky closed his eyes, despite all the physical changes to them both, it was like nothing had changed. And nothing that really mattered had.

And it was as perfect as it always had been.

Though the scratch of the beard was new. But a good new. Bucky found he quite liked it.

 

* * *

 

Tony stumbled along what might have _looked_ like flat ground to anyone else, but certainly _felt_ like he was tripping into every pothole in the country. Though the balance problems might have had more to do with the giant knot, throbbing painfully, on the back of his head.

Sure, the masked man’s knock to the temple had been clean and precise. Tony couldn’t even feel a bruise there.

But the great big _idiot_ had apparently not remembered to take into account that Tony would _fall_ after the hit, onto very unforgiving stone, _thanks_. Landed backward on his giant noggin, and yeah, that hard smack made waking up a whole lot more painful than it had any right to be, without even a drop of alcoholic lubrication before the knockout either.

At least he’d managed to wake up before more trouble had fallen upon him. Tony had barely managed to roll himself out of sight, when the first soldier had climbed up over the cliff. Looked like Florin was catching up to their Princess’ kidnapped bridegroom. And after that, it had been a matter of alternately staggering and shuffling quietly away.

Okay, possibly he shouldn’t have had a few sips from his flask, that probably hadn’t helped clear his headache as much as he’d hoped it would, or truly dulled the pain. But Stone had taken all the supplies, and Tony hadn’t been left with much choice. On an empty stomach too, no less.

By the time he'd reached the harbour and managed to barter a ride on the next passing boat headed for Stone’s rendezvous point, Tony was sure he was more green then tan. But at least he could pass it off as sea-sickness. It also meant some peace and quiet, since the others onboard left him alone to avoid any potential vomit.

Tony groaned, hanging to the side of the boat and rubbing at the sore spot on the back of his head. _Yup_ , shouldn’t have drunk from his flask…


	3. The Fire Swamp and The Pit of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Princess catches up, and catches onto something else...

####  **The Fire Swamp**

Steve was leading Bucky along the bottom of the ravine, running quickly, their hands clasped tight. Honestly, Bucky was still just wrapping his head around the changes in Steve, too busy to question or protest wherever he was taking them.

He was taller now, Bucky’s height, and Bucky was actually having to make _effort_ to keep pace with the other man.

This was ridiculous.

It was also amazing. The big lug was _alive_. Everything else was just details and catching up. And speaking of catching up…

“Ha!” Steve grinned, shooting a smug look over his shoulder up the side of the ravine. “Your fiancée is too late!”

Bucky glanced up too, and could just make out the silhouettes of a line of horses on the ridge. One of them held a flag bearing Florin’s standard, but he didn’t need to see that to realise who was up there. Even from this distance, Bucky could make out the vivid red hair of the Princess, bright as any flame.

“A few more steps, and we’ll be safe in the Fire Swamp,” Steve assured him with a squeeze to his right hand.

“Uhh—”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve said. It was in that particular tone of voice that Bucky knew meant he had _no clue_ that everything would be alright, only the determination to _make it work_.

That was one thing he hadn’t missed as much. That was the tone of voice Steve always got right before diving headlong into trouble against unknown odds, usually dragging Bucky’s ass along with him. And then ending up in one or both of them with a black eye at the very least. Bucky groaned, letting himself be pulled along still, “We ain’t gonna survive this.”

“Nah,” Steve shook his head, straightening his shoulders as he looked ahead at the dark smudge of trees visible at the end of the ravine. “You’re only saying that ‘cos no one ever has before.”

“S’probably a reason for that, Stevie,” Bucky pointed out, but he knew it was futile.

It wasn’t as if they had much choice besides. Stay, and they’d be captured by the Princess and her men. It probably wouldn’t end too badly for Bucky, but he didn’t want to think about what they might do to a pirate like Steve. And he wasn’t eager to let Steve out of his sight anytime soon anyway, not when they’d only just found each other again.

They slowed down as they actually approached the swamp. “Remember when I made you ride that wild mustang at Ol’ Coney’s place?”

“Cyclone,” Steve nodded. “Yeah. And I threw up.”

“This isn’t payback, is it?”

A slow smirk slipped across Steve’s face, “Now, why would I do that?”

The trees were dark and gnarled and old, mossy vines over-hanging everything, and a thick muggy feel lingered in the air. Bucky could almost taste the forest with every breath, something green and mouldy on his tongue. Stepping through the trees, the warmth of the sunlight vanished, leaving the forest illuminated by a cold harsh light. The forest floor squelched under each step, dipping and soggy, and too dark to make out what could be crawling in it.

[ ](http://hazein.tumblr.com/post/170975656077/the-revenge-chapter-3-riverlander974-marvel)

_Art by[Hazein](http://hazein.tumblr.com/)_

For something called the Fire Swamp, it was a lot damper than Bucky had expected.

“It’s not so bad,” Steve declared jauntily.

Bucky shot him a look, highly sceptical, as he wondered if his True Love had lost his mind since they'd been parted.

Steve shrugged sheepishly, still not letting go of Bucky’s hand. “I’m not saying make a summer home of the place. But the trees are… interesting… to look at.”

The trees only grew taller the deeper they went, giant in height and size, with green-black bark and leaves that sagged in the dull light.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the punk. He didn’t have time to do much more before a _pop-popping_ noise startled them both, only seconds before a wave of heat licked up his side.

“Fucking SHIT!”

Quickly Bucky leapt away from the sudden burst of freaking fire shooting out of the ground - _Fire Swamp,_ _got it_ \- and stared at his left sleeve, which was now on fire. _Perfect._ Steve was not as calm, making unhappy noises as he tried to smother the flames with his hands, only managing to burn his fingertips that were left unprotected in fingerless gloves.

Not waiting for the rest of himself to catch on fire, Bucky growled and grabbed the end of the sleeve with his right hand, yanking it away sharply.

He ripped the sleeve off entirely and tossed it to the ground, where he stomped angrily at the flames until they petered out. “How the hell does somethin’ even catch on fire in this place? It’s too freakin’ _damp_!”

Steve was still staring at him though, eyes darting between his face, the burnt sleeve on the ground between them, and his now exposed left arm. An arm that shone brightly despite the faint light.

It was made of silver bands of metal, and definitely not the left arm Steve had last seen on him.

Shuffling to hide that side, Bucky was stopped when Steve reached for him, a hand on his shoulder. Turning Bucky to face him fully, Steve’s eyes stayed glued to the left arm, taking it all in with an unreadable look on his face. The moment dragged on longer than Bucky liked, neither saying a thing until there was another _pop-popping_ noise, and Bucky had never in his life been so relieved to nearly be set on fire again.

Steve used the hand on his shoulder to pulled Bucky out of the way of the impending burst of fire. His face went back to concern now as he took Bucky’s hand in his again and started leading them onward through the swamp.

“Well, that was an adventure!” Steve said, ignoring the deadpan look Bucky shot him. “The Fire Swamp really keeps you on your toes.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Least it isn’t boring,” Steve said, with a shrug and that boyish grin of his.

 _Only Steve_ , Bucky thought, shaking his head.

“Anyway, this’ll all be behind us soon,” Steve said. “The Dread Pirate’s ship the _Revenge_ is not far, just need to look out for a signal when they’ve anchored safely. And as I’m the Dread Pirate Nomad himself—”

“Yeah, about that. How the hell, Steve?” Bucky asked. “I only lost you five years ago, but that Dread Pirate has been marauding about for decades. He’s practically a myth.” There was another _pop-popping_ sound, and this time Bucky spun Steve out of the way of the impending burst of fire.

“You see, what I told you before about saying ‘please’ was mostly true. It caught the attention of Nomad’s first mate, my story about you, my True Love.” He drew out his sword to hack at a few vines hanging in their path, and Bucky had a moment of envy, as he had none of his own weapons on him. “He said they couldn’t just let me go, but if I worked hard, paid attention, and kept my head down, he could maybe figure something out for me with the Captain. So I did. I learned a lot. The Dread Pirate threatened to kill me every night for the lip I gave him during the day, but I worked well for him.”

Bucky sighed, “Of course you’d give lip to the guy who could easily kill ya.”

Steve merely grinned, unrepentant. “Wanted to get back to you, Buck.”

“Get on with the story,” Bucky blustered, cheeks hot.

“Well, the Dread Pirate was an older fella, gettin’ on in years, and he told me that he wanted to retire,” Steve said. “But he couldn’t just pack his bags and wave a goodbye. He said the Dread Pirate title was _important_ , and he’d been looking for someone special to take it over, and his first mate thought I was that someone.”

“Important? Important how?”

“Getting to that,” Steve said, as they reached a pool of swamp water, with only a narrow branch as a bridge. Carefully they crossed it on tiptoes, still hand in hand. “Anyway, the Dread Pirate told me a lot of things. He told me that _he_ wasn’t the first Dread Pirate Nomad, his real name was Phillips, and _he’d_ been passed the title from a guy called Stanley way back, and so on. And the name comes ready with a fearsome reputation for a good reason; the Dread Pirate was a part of something bigger, something secret, an ongoing battle to save the world from evil. Just because we were pirates, didn’t mean we had to be _bad_.”

Bucky frowned, thinking hard about what he was hearing. It sounded like some crazy pirate conspiracy nonsense, but Steve talked about it like they were simple facts, with such conviction that you couldn’t help _but_ believe him.

“So after my first year, he took me back to their island base to explain about his retirement and me taking his place. The folks in charge weren’t so happy, sniffed at the look of this weedy guy who was still findin’ his sea-legs, but the Pirate King liked the stubborn look of me and said to give me a shot.”

“That’s nice of ‘em,” Bucky said, pleased that he hadn’t been the only one to see the worth of Steve beyond his smaller, sickly appearance.

“Yeah, no, I mean they literally gave me a shot, Buck,” Steve chuckled. “First mate came out of nowhere and jabbed me right in the chest.”

“He WHAT?!”

“But it all worked out well!” Steve insisted, smiling like everything was sunshine and daisies and there wasn’t anything troubling about being shot up with unknown substances by friggin’ pirates in the middle of nowhere.

Bucky wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle or straddle the idiot. Maybe he’d do both.

“Honestly, Buck, I’m thankful for it,” Steve said, waving a hand at himself. “It hurt like hell for a day, but I woke up like _this_. I could- I could breathe without wheezing, my back didn’t hurt, I wasn’t cold all the time, everything was different. Better.”

He stopped walking for a moment to turn and face Bucky, holding both hands and looking him earnestly in the eyes.

“I would’a come straight home to you, Bucky, you have to know that, but I owed them my life, and they needed my help. When they told me what they were doing, I had to help ‘em. I had to.”

“I know,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “You’re always ‘bout helping people.”

Steve grinned at him, so proud. “So, Phillips retired, calls himself a Colonel back on base and still helps the Pirate King co-ordinate the fleet. I took over the _Revenge_ with a new crew as the new Dread Pirate Nomad and set out on missions with them the next few years. Phillips’ first mate stuck with me for a while, till we lost him in a fight. Erskine saved my life, he saw something in me worth saving, Bucky. This… this fight, I’m not gonna stop fighting it now, not till it’s won. I can't.”

He trailed off, that happy look turning hesitant.

“Was hoping you’d join me too, now that we’re together again.”

Bucky laughed, leaning over to give Steve a quick peck, “Count on it.”

Steve ducked close for a harder kiss, beaming as he kept hurrying them through the swamp. “I’ll tell you everything better when we get to the ship. I've got so much to tell you. All the places I’ve been, the people I met— _Ack!_ ”

His words cut off from a yelp, as the swampy ground beneath him gave way to snowy fine sand. One moment Steve was standing in front of Bucky, the next he’d disappeared into the ground, only the hand in his ensuring that Bucky hadn’t lost Steve all over again.

“Damn it!” Bucky growled as he dug his heels into the ground, grasping Steve’s arm tight with both hands. He huffed as he started to pull, heaving with all his might. Goddamn, Steve was heavy now. No more dragging him out of fights single-handed from now on. “ _Damn it!_ ”

Steve’s head was in the quicksand, it couldn’t be long before he started to suffocate down there. Bucky reluctantly let one hand go, reaching for a nearby vine to anchor himself, while metal fingers stayed locked tight around Steve’s wrist. With the added support of the vine, the next time Bucky pulled back, Steve’s head popped up from the quicksand.

His entire head was dusted white from the sand, scattering more into the air as he gasped for air. Steve was already curling his bicep though, and together they managed to pull him clear of the spot he’d sunk down in.

They flopped onto the soggy solid ground, panting from panic and exertion, wide-eyed as they stared at each other. Bucky was having difficulty telling his fingers to disengage his tight hold on Steve, the ass of his pants was soaked through, and there was sand getting into everything.

It was like the five years apart had never happened. Still getting into trouble together.

Steve reached a big hand between them, linking his fingers with the metal fingers on his wrist as they both caught their breath. “You gonna tell me how you got this?”

Bucky sighed, forcing his metal hand to let go. There’d be a bruise blooming there later, but Steve was just looking at him with those big blue eyes, long lashes dusted with sand, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the idiot next to him. “Okay, yeah, I’ll tell you. But don’t freak out.”

“Oh, like you didn’t freak out about the shot Erskine gave me?” Steve snickered, pulling them to their feet.

Bucky took a swipe at him for the cheek, grinning back as Steve ducked away with a giggle.

 

* * *

 

Thor hummed as he followed the rest of the men off the boat, all lining up by the dock in front of a very small man with glasses and slick-shiny hair. He walked down the line with an overblown swagger, the sleeves of his doublet ballooning almost comically at his sides.

He was handing out jobs, walking down the line and judging each man with a sneer: those lucky enough to have had the money to pay for passage on the boat had left already; the rest, like Thor, would have to work off the rest of their fee. He hoped he got one of the riskier jobs. The more dangerous the job, the quicker it was to work off what you owed. And Thor was eager to get to the rendezvous site as soon as possible.

He wanted to see with his own eyes that Stark had indeed survived his duel with the masked man.

And if he had not, then Thor had a masked man to go back and hunt down.

As the small man paused in front of Thor, he looked him up and down with shifty eyes, before nodding and snapping his fingers. Thor blinked down at the tiny man, watching in fascination as he kept snapping his fingers, his face turning puce not unlike Stone’s sometimes did.

“Come - _here_  - you - _idiot_!” the man screeched, snapping his fingers again and pointing to a spot in front of him.

He seemed satisfied when Thor stepped forward, towering over the other man.

“I see you can follow simple instructions,” the small man tutted, speaking slowly to Thor.

He was used to being seen and immediately judged as more brawn than brains, so Thor said nothing to dissuade that notion. It would probably work to his advantage in this case anyway. He had a feeling the little man had a demanding job in mind for him. With any luck, it wouldn’t be long before he’d work off his debt and be on his way to the rendezvous point.

“Good,” the little man said. “You’ll be joining the Brute Squad. _My_ Brute Squad. We deal with the worst of whoever his Majesty requires dealing with, understand?”

“I understand,” Thor said.

“You will refer to me as Sir or Hammer,” the man said, pointing mockingly to the hammer on Thor’s belt. “Should be easy enough for even someone like _you_ to remember.”

Thor bit back angry words, but the dark look on his face seemed enough for Hammer to keep a wide berth after when continuing down the line. Thor ignored him and moved to join the others Hammer had selected for his Brute Squad, all large and muscled men like himself.

 

* * *

 

Bucky faced Steve, left hand linked with Steve’s, as he used his other hand to try and brush away the worst of the sand. Leaves and dust fluttered as he patted them both down, and Steve stood patiently, a happy look on his face as he let Bucky fuss over him.

“You were coming to see me on that ship, weren’t you? Before it got attacked by the previous Dread Pirate,” Bucky said, and Steve nodded. “What d’you hear?”

“Not much,” Steve admitted. “I’d gone again to see if the King’s Army would take me. They refused, again, but had a message about you. Your unit, anyway.” A pained expression crossed his face as he looked away from Bucky, eyes widening at something over his shoulder.

“What?” Bucky made to turn, but Steve grabbed his shoulder and held him in place.

“Nothing!” he said. “Just- just remembering that day.” Steve gulped, gaze flickering between Bucky and something to the side. “All anyone had heard was that your unit had been attacked, more than half lost down the side of a mountain, but no one had the names of survivors. I had to know. Caught the next ship to the frontline that would take me.”

Bucky nodded, pretending not to hear the scurrying of _something_ behind him, “Thought as much. I got the letter you sent ahead. S’why I knew you were on that ship when it was attacked.”

“So what happened?” Steve asked. His eyes were still tracking whatever was behind him, and Bucky hoped that the guy didn’t think Bucky was stupid enough to miss that. He let it go though, trusting that the big knucklehead had his eye out for any danger.

“We got ambushed on the mountainside, like you heard,” Bucky said. “Higher-ups said it was bad intel, but I think someone sold us out. The other side had the advantage, pushed us to the edge of a gorge, and the ground just fell away under us. _Gods_ , Stevie, the fall felt like it went on for forever, and I’m glad I can’t remember landing. When I woke up, my arm was basically shredded, and there wasn’t no one else alive in that frozen pit, all around was just blood and snow.”

Steve was entirely focused on him again, a muscle in his jaw jumping from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

“When reinforcement rescued me, the arm was a lost cause, they cut it off.” Bucky shivered, remembering days sat on a small cot, cupping his shoulder where an arm should’ve been, still feeling the last agony of that limb even though it wasn’t there any longer. “I got news about your ship while I was healing, and I just… shut down, I guess… I shut down, or I would’a broken down even worse.”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve sighed, his eyes shining.

“Some recruiter came by, wanted a sharpshooter, he’d heard how I was with a crossbow. Promised me an arm, but couldn’t promise I’d survive the missions they got for me. What did I have to lose anymore?” The smile on Bucky’s face was empty, bitter, remembering how little he’d cared as that recruiter had warned how dangerous accepting the assignment was. He’d hardly been present. He shrugged his metal shoulder, “They fitted this on me, some half-magic half-machine thing that hurt like hell, and the next few years I just… they’d point at a target, and I dealt with it. So many times…”

Steve tugged him closer with the hand he was holding, drawing them into a hug. It felt easier to keep talking now without having to look Steve in the eye.

“After a real bad mission, I said _enough_ , that if they forced me I’d turn my skill on them. They had to let me go. And I came home to people calling me a _‘hero’_. The stories they’d heard about me were all twisted up. The things I’d done, it was some dark shit, Stevie, but I had little kids coming up to me with flowers and I couldn’t take it. Hid up in our old place until I got a Royal summons.”

“Shh,” Steve whispered, hand rubbing soothing circles down Bucky’s back.

It took a while for Bucky to gather himself again, enjoying soaking up the warmth from Steve, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “People were low after all the fighting and loss, and the King thought a Royal wedding would boost morale - popular War Hero marries Crown Princess - or some shit like that. I told her I loved a dead man, and she told me I was free to keep doing so.”

“She- she’s nice, then?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“She’s terrifying,” Bucky admitted with a half-laugh. “But nice too, in her own strange way. I didn’t have any reason to say no, so we agreed to the arrangement.” Lifting his head, he cupped Steve’s face in his mismatched hands, meeting those blue eyes. “Until I saw you again.”

Steve smiled back, taking a moment to run fingers through Bucky’s hair, longer than it had been when they’d parted, down to his shoulders now. “We’re together now. You and me, Buck, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah?” Bucky snorted. “And do you actually know the way outta this damn swamp? Or are we gonna die in here.”

“We’ll make it,” Steve said, starting them walking again. “We’re through the worst of it anyway. I mean, what’s the Fire Swamp feared for? One, fire spurts, which we’ve learnt how to avoid. Two, the lightning sand, and we’ve learnt what to look for to avoid that too—”

“And the R.O.U.S.?”

“Rodents of Unusual Size?” Steve scoffed, striding confidently around the hanging vines. “They probably aren’t even real—”

Just then, something man-sized but not a man came flying from out of nowhere, knocking Steve into the ground.

Matted brown fur and nearly a hundred pound of wriggling muscle pinned him down, gnashing razor sharp teeth at him, spit bubbling and dripping onto Steve’s face. It was all he could do to hold the giant rat back, wincing as long claws scratched at the rest of him.

“Steve!” Bucky cried, grabbing up the sword Steve had dropped when he’d fallen.

Steve managed to land a punch to the R.O.U.S.’s snout, pushing it off him, and rolling to his feet next to Bucky. The hit only dazed the creature, already it was chittering angrily at him, beady eyes burning with hunger as it got to its feet again. And it wasn’t the only one. Three more R.O.U.S. circled the pair, and Steve could see another half dozen eyes shining in the dark among the trees.

He reached for his shield and stood back-to-back with Bucky, ready for when the R.O.U.S. leapt at them.

 

* * *

 

Waiting, _gods_ , Tony hated empty waiting. Idleness did not suit him.

He seemed to be either the first or the only one, at the rendezvous point.

The Thieves’ Forest was just as described. Not the politest or cleanest company, but you couldn’t fault the moonshine available there. It was something of a currency if you knew to talk to the right person. The particular variety he favoured was quite pricey, but there were plenty of other cheaper drinks available also, and Tony had treated himself to a few bottles of brandy while he waited.

“Go ‘way,” he mumbled, sat slumped against the side of the liquor supplier’s little store.

Tony was glaring at the top of his boot, where a tiny grey kitten was perched, meowing adoringly at the swordsman. It crept onto his boot and started batting at the tattered cuff.

“I don’t have any more food,” he said firmly.

The kitten happily kept playing with his boot.

“I can’t possibly keep you,” Tony pointed out. He knew Stone would never allow such an indulgence.

The kitten meowed sweetly and started walking up his leg. Tony frowned down at it, watching it curl up into a warm ball in his lap.

“I’m telling you, I’m not a smart choice for anyone, buddy.”

It started purring, its tiny body vibrating with the force of its joy. Tony took a large swig from the brandy bottle, smacking his lips, before looking down at the kitten on him.

“This is only temporary!” he firmly declared.

The kitten rubbed its fluffy cheek against Tony’s stomach, eyes closed and whiskers tickling.

A hand somehow found its way to the kitten’s back, petting through the fur and amping up the purring. Something inside twisted and tugged at his chest, and he didn’t think it was only the small fluffball in his lap. He didn’t like the strange fuzzy feeling, like a hook on his heart, and he was the fish caught on the end. And Tony didn't have a clue who or what could be reeling him in.

He set down the brandy bottle and pulled out his flask. Tony wondered for a minute whether this was a good idea. But only for a minute. Then he popped the cork and saluted the kitten. If anything could drown out the strange painful pulling in his chest, it would be what was in this flask.

 

* * *

 

Blood dripped from a deep bite wound in one of Steve’s shoulders, a great hole torn in the sleeve. He was scuffed and still covered in sand, shield strapped to one arm, his other arm reaching back to hold tight to Bucky’s hand. Bucky was less covered in sand but singed down the left side of his clothes, and his hair stuck to his face and neck with sweat. In his right hand, he had Steve’s sword, ready for a fight, even as they stepped out of the Fire Swamp into brighter settings, the trees not so frightening, the ground not so boggy, fresh air, but most importantly—

“No such thing as R.O.U.S., huh,” Bucky grumbled. “ _Right_.”

Steve smiled sunnily back, “My mistake.”

Bucky blinked around at their new surroundings, some tension fading from his shoulders now that they were out of that nightmarish place. “I can’t believe we made it.”

“Was it really so terrible?” Steve asked. He only laughed when Bucky slugged him in his unharmed shoulder.

Stopping for a moment, Bucky looked over at his love, taking in the tired look and sand-dusted cheeks, the blue eyes just as bright as he remembered. Leaning closer, something that still felt surreal to do, Bucky let his eyes start to close as he drew near for another kiss.

Steve’s head snapped away though at the thundering sound of hooves, half a dozen soldiers on horseback surrounding the couple, the Princess and the Count at the front.

The Princess was beautiful, even in spite of the stunningly unimpressed expression on her face, with that famous red hair, a sword strapped to her hip, and a ruthless tilt to her head. She certainly looked terrifying then, just like Bucky had said of her, and Steve raised his shield up higher.

The Count looked dangerous too but in some more slippery way. Though it was a little harder to tell under his respectable outer appearance: the trimmed grey beard, not a whisker out of place, nor a hair on his head; the rich brocade on his dark jerkin; heavy gold chain of office slung across his wide chest.

“Surrender!” the Count barked at them.

Steve paused, shuffling back a little to stand closer to Bucky. “You wish to surrender to me? I accept!”

“You’re brave, I’ll give you that,” the Count said. “Don’t be a fool.”

“You really intend to capture us?” Steve asked. “We now know the secrets to the Fire Swamp. We could happily live there for some time, I’m sure. Feel free to visit, if you’re up for dying.”

The Princess watched the exchange silently, more interested it seemed in observing. Sharp green eyes rolled over Bucky, before meeting his eyes. There was a question there, and Bucky found himself tightening the grip he had on the hand in his. The Princess still said nothing, but turned curious eyes to Steve now.

“I tell you now - surrender!”

“Never!” Steve roared back.

The smallest rustle far to his right caught Bucky’s attention, and he quickly spotted another of the Count’s men behind a bush, crossbow out and trained on Steve. Looking behind and to the other side revealed even more men, up trees and behind shrubs, all with arrows ready to shoot. Between them, Bucky and Steve could probably take them on in close combat, even with just one sword and a shield between them. But there were too many too far out of reach, with long-range weapons, boxing them in, cutting off any escape.

They were ambushed and too heavily outnumbered.

“For - the - last - time! SURRENDER!”

“YOU FIRST!”

“Promise not to hurt him!” Bucky yelled, interrupting the shouting match.

The Count blinked. “What?”

Steve blinked too. “What?”

But Bucky had his eyes fixed on the Princess. “If we surrender, and I return with you, promise me you won’t hurt this man.”

The Princess looked steadily back at him. “I swear it.”

“He’s a sailor on the ship  _Revenge_ ,” Bucky said. “Let him return to his ship unharmed.”

The Princess nodded, instructing the Count with a few words. He scowled but made no other protest, turning to speak quietly with his men. Bucky took the chance to turn back to Steve, the heartbroken expression he saw no doubt mirrored on his face.

“I thought you were dead once, because of me, and it destroyed me,” Bucky said softly, handing back the sword to Steve and touching his cheek just above the beard. “If I can help it, I won’t let it happen again.”

A man Bucky recognised as the Princess’ personal guard drew up beside them on a horse. He held out a hand which Bucky took, and pulled him up onto the saddle behind him. Bucky’s eyes stayed locked with Steve’s, even as the Princess led half the men away. His large frame shrank until he was smaller than he had been even in Bucky’s oldest memories, until eventually, he couldn’t see him at all.

Bucky hadn’t said a last ‘I love you’. He hadn’t said goodbye.

Steve was his True Love. Such things didn’t have to be said.

 

* * *

 

####  **The Pit of Despair**

Watching Bucky being carried away from him, fading out of view, burned something terrible inside Steve. Sorrow battered bitterly at his heart. He could still feel where Bucky had touched his cheek, like a brand, marking him as Bucky’s for all the world to see and setting alight a million pinpricks of rage inside that engulfed his soul.

A horse stopped in front of him, the Count looking down. “Come, sir. Her Highness has told me to escort you to your ship.”

Steve rolled his shoulders, shield and sword heavy in his hands. “Lies do not become us.”

The Count smirked, smug in his saddle before he noticed Steve’s attention lingered on the ostentatious medallion hanging down the centre of his chest, golden like the rest of his chain, a crest carved into its flat surface. “What?”

“... four… six… eight…” Steve counted quietly, before his eyes met the Count. “You have ten rings for your coat of arms.”

“Yes.”

Now Steve was the one smirking. “Someone I know is looking for you.”

He had the pleasure of seeing the blood drain from Count’s face and his pale eyes crackle with fury and fright before someone behind Steve hit him hard on the head, and he fell to the ground and into unconsciousness.

Steve awoke later in a cavernous room, underground, dank and cold and windowless, lit only with a few flickering lamps, enough to catch on the massive water wheel in the room. He was inside what looked like a glass coffin, the lid open on the hinge, metal chains down his body pinning him down. His shirt had been stripped off, and Steve was cuffed at the wrist, ankles, hips, and even across his forehead.

A face loomed appeared above him, and Steve quickly scanned the new person.

It was a small man. He had a bulbous head, hair thin on the top, and round nose-spectacles clipped to a snub nose. The man was nearly as pale as the grubby white tunic he wore, a sickly shade as though he rarely saw sunlight, and when he smiled down at Steve it was entirely empty, any human feeling missing from behind those glass frames.

“Where am I?” Steve demanded of the man.

“The Pit of Despair,” the pale man whispered back.

He hummed as he started tending to Steve’s injured shoulder, washing away the blood and applying ointment. He then moved on to the other small scrapes Steve had collected, ignoring the suspicious looks Steve kept shooting him.

“I wouldn’t bother even thinking of escape,” the pale man said, some faint accent that sat crisp on the consonants. “The chains are too thick. And don’t dream of rescue either, the only entryway here is secret. Only the King, the Count and I know the way in or out.”

“I’m here till I die, then?”

“Until then, yes.”

“Then why bother attending to my injuries?” Steve asked.

“Ah, allow me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Zola,” the pale man said. “And I prefer everyone to be healthy before I begin my work.”

“So I’m to be tortured,” Steve said, lifting his chin as much as he could. “I can withstand torture.”

Zola gave a wispy laugh.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, no, you survived the Fire Swamp, I know you must be very brave,” Zola said, smiling with dead eyes. “Very strong… but no one yet has been able to withstand my Machine.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha watched the gloomy man sat alone on the bench outside, dressed in clean finery once again but indifferent to the colourful gardens around him. He was staring forward, unseeing to the trickling fountain in front of him, uncaring of the beautiful flowers around him.

She too was back in a more formal dress, decorative for court, her hair falling freely down her back and a tiara set on her head: Crown Princess of Florin once more. Picking up her skirts, Natasha joined the sullen man, standing beside him and watching the fountain too for a while. It really was quite lovely, a white marble sculpture of an eagle, wings spread in flight. 

“That man at the swamp…”

“I knew him,” Bucky said softly.

Natasha nodded to herself. It only confirmed what she’d already guessed. “He’s the man you told me of, your True Love.”

“His name is Steve.”

Natasha hummed. “He was a little taller than you’d described.”

That at least pulled a gruff chuckle from Bucky. She held out a hand.

“Come,” Natasha said. “My father is expecting us for lunch.”

Bucky sighed, but took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. Natasha then linked their arms and led them inside, down grey stone corridors to the great hall. Servants milled about them, Clint an ever-present shadow on the edges with other royal guards. The King was already sitting at the head of the long table, the Queen to his right, the Count on her other side. The seat on the King’s left waited for Natasha, and she took her place with Bucky beside her. When they were seated, attendants arrived with plates piled high with roasted meats and bread, and stewards started pouring out the wine.

“I’m pleased you are well, Sergeant Barnes,” the King said, smiling slightly at Bucky. The tall heavy crown reflected golden on his pale ashen hair, and wrinkles had long carved deep into his face. “We were worried to learn of your capture. And by Guilder, too! If you had died, it would have meant war. How lucky we were to avoid it. Weren’t we, dear?”

The Queen didn’t seem to be listening but managed a vague hum in agreement, more interested in stirring a cup of tea. Her wine lay untouched next to her full plate.

“It wasn’t Guilder,” Bucky told them.

The Count stiffened in his seat, and the King paused in cutting his food.

“You must be mistaken,” the Count said slowly. “Your horse was found with evidence that men from Guilder had taken you.”

Bucky shook his head. “I overheard the kidnappers’ plans. They were hired to plant evidence to frame Guilder.”

“It doesn’t mean that they weren’t still acting on orders _from_ Guilder,” the Count said.

“I guess not, but—”

“Do you think they were they hired by your Steve?” Natasha asked suddenly. “It seems a remarkable coincidence for him to just happen to be there otherwise.”

“ _Your_ Steve?” the King said, eyes darting between Bucky and Natasha. “Who is this _Steve_? One of the kidnappers?”

“No, I don’t think he hired them,” Bucky said. “And he wasn’t one of the kidnappers. He actually stole me from them.”

“Steve is the True Love of Sergeant Barnes, father.”

The Queen murmured a quiet, “Oh, how nice,” into her tea, while the King shot a severe look at the Count, demanding an immediate explanation.

The Count quickly cleared his throat, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes emerged from the Fire Swamp with another man. We were prepared to fight to free him against who we presumed to be one of his captors, but Sergeant Barnes requested that we let the man freely return to his ship in exchange for us escorting him home with the Princess. We were not told that he was the Sergeant’s… True Love.”

The King turned back to Bucky, asking “Do you still intend to marry the Princess?” and when Bucky hesitated too long in answering, said slowly, “I see.”

Natasha said nothing herself. She wasn’t going to fight for a wedding she had no wish for, nor was she going to fight to get out of it. She’d tried and tired of fighting over it. She had a duty, and she’d learned well by now that she didn’t have to _like_ it, but she’d been born into a position that included responsibilities beyond her own personal happiness. There was a country and its people to think of. As it was, she was more curious to see what Bucky would do.

Bucky’s face eventually settled with grim determination, “It comes to this: I love Steve. I always have, and I know I always will. If you tell me I must marry the Princess in ten days as you had planned, then expect that I will be dead in eleven.”

The King appeared stunned. “I would certainly not wish to cause such a tragedy, True Love is a thing to be celebrated - consider the wedding off! Stane, you said you escorted this Steve back to his ship?”

The Count hesitated, “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Then we must alert him with the good news,” the King said.

A small place inside Natasha slowly uncoiled, and she hid her relief behind her napkin. Bucky smiled too, a real smile the likes of which she’d never seen on his face before, the corners of his eyes scrunching up. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

The King nodded grandly, before leaning forward. “You’re certain he will still want you? I only ask as it was you who left him outside the Fire Swamp. Perhaps his feelings for you might have changed…”

“Steve will come back for me,” Bucky said, utterly sure.

“Then I suggest after dinner you write four identical letters. I’ll send them on my four fastest ships, one in each direction. We’ll wave a white flag, and deliver your letter, and if your Steve wants you, many blessings! If not…” the King paused, a sympathetic look on his face. “If not, please consider going through with the wedding to the Princess. You’ve helped shape the outcome of our past victories. My country needs a man like you to shape our future.”

Natasha swallowed down her own bitterness at the words and choices taken from her with more wine, digging into her roast chicken with perhaps more viciousness than required. _She_ knew she was perfectly capable of leading their country by herself.

Bucky was quiet before answering. “Only if he doesn’t come back for me.”

“Excellent,” the King beamed, and the Count toasted Bucky with his wine glass, but there were still other matters that concerned Natasha.

“If Steve didn’t do it, we still don’t know who wanted you kidnapped,” Natasha pointed out. “Did you hear your captors mention any names?”

“Only their own,” Bucky admitted.

“You know their names?”

“Yes, but it won’t help much now they’re all dead.”

“Only one is dead,” Natasha said quickly, “By iocane powder. I tracked two others, but we didn’t find their bodies.”

“They got away?” Bucky stared intensely at her. “They’re… alive?”

He didn’t sound frightened of the idea that some of his kidnappers lived. In Natasha’s opinion— “You seem pleased.”

Bucky ducked his head, playing with a fork in one hand. “The one who was poisoned, Stone, was the leader of the group. The other two were forced by circumstance into working for him; Stone hadn’t even told them who they were capturing. They were kind to me. I’m relieved they aren’t dead.”

 _Kind to him_ , Natasha thought it strange to hear, but there was no denying that pleased smile on Bucky’s lips. “You don’t want them punished?”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No punishment.”

“Fine,” Natasha said, ignoring the King’s disapproving frown, and the Count making protesting noises. She was still Princess, and such a declaration was within her power. “But we still need to find them. They might know more than they think about who was behind the whole thing.”

Bucky took a moment to think. “If I tell you their names… you won’t hurt them.”

It wasn’t a request. Natasha saw a glimmer of the danger the Winter Soldier must have exuded at his deadliest. How strange, he seemed oddly protective of this pair of kidnappers. It certainly had her curious about them. “They will be questioned, but no, not hurt.” Again, Natasha ignored the unhappy noises the Count was making, watching Bucky closely instead.

He nodded. “The bigger one was called Thor. Long blond hair, beard, tall with big muscles, carried a hammer as a weapon.”

“Thor is an unusual name,” the Count said, managing actual words now. “That should make it easier finding him.”

“And the other one?” Natasha prompted. “The Swordsman.”

“I only heard him referred to as Stark.”

Three things suddenly happened all at once: the King started coughing loudly, choking on a mouthful of mutton; the Count dropped his jaw and his wine glass, the red liquid spilling across the table; and the Queen lost all colour from her face, gaping at Bucky, teacup held halfway to her lips.

“Stark?” the Queen said, softly at first, and then again louder. “Stark?”

The Count snapped his fingers, waving for servants to clean up the puddle of wine as he started stammering, “Your Majesty— your Majesty—”

“Your tea, dear!” the King said, waving a hand to encourage his wife to drink. “Your tea!”

Natasha hadn’t seen any of the three behave like this before.

The Queen set her teacup down with a loud firm  _clink_ , her perfect coiffed flaxen hair now oddly frazzled. “You- boy- you said Stark.”

Natasha had never seen her mother so _alive_ in years. Bucky didn’t seem to know quite how to react to her sudden attention; the Queen was usually a delicate and beautiful, but vacant, figure at the King’s side. He settled for a hesitant nod.

The Queen clenched her small hands into tiny fists, “Describe him to me.”

“He—”

“ _Stane, her tea!_ ” the King insisted.

“Right!” the Count said, taking up her teacup, and lifting it to the Queen’s lips. “Your Majesty, I must insist.”

She caught his wrist, holding him back, turning those same green eyes she’d passed to Natasha on the Count. It was startling how much of herself Natasha could suddenly see in her mother when she glared like that. “Obie,” the Queen said. “But Obie, he said—”

“Drink,” the Count said sternly, bringing the cup to her lips.

Bucky made to stand, an angry look on his face at watching such treatment, but Natasha seized his arm to stop him. Not here. Something that had long been hidden was almost revealed. A secret of great importance. A thing that could not be discovered and dissected at the table.

Or, more likely, _wouldn’t_ be unveiled here, when Natasha saw the panic in the eyes of the King and the Count as they had her mother drink more tea. It had been a long time since Natasha had felt uneasy from being surrounded by the King's personal guard. They were supposed to be as much for her protection as her father’s, but their presence suddenly felt more threatening tonight than it ever had before.

The empty teacup had hardly been set down, before the Queen lost all her sharp agitated lines, face smoothing out to its more common dreamy state. She serenely settled back in her seat.

The Count ran a hand over his bald pate as he stood, “If you’ll excuse me, I shall make a start on finding our elusive ‘kind’ kidnappers.”

“Yes. Yes, very good,” the King said, rising too. “I think that’s best.” With his personal guard standing at the King’s shoulders, there wasn’t any chance for Natasha or Bucky to protest. Natasha watched as the King then pulled the Queen to her feet, a tight hold on her elbow, “Say goodbye to the children.”

“Hmm?” the Queen slowly lifted her head, smacking her lips.

“Maria, say goodbye,” the King said again.

“Goodbye,” the Queen parroted back.

The King passed the Queen over to her three ladies-in-waiting, before leaving the hall with the Count. Once the room emptied of the royal guards, Natasha stood too, hand still gripping Bucky tightly. They followed the Queen and her entourage out of the hall, servants already swooping in behind them to clear up the remains of lunch.

Clint appeared silently at her shoulder, leaning between them to whisper, “Well, that was a funny overreaction.”

“The name ‘Stark’ certainly spooked them,” Natasha said, glancing at Bucky. “Did you hear Stark mention anything to do with Florin?”

Bucky shook his head, but Clint leaned forward between them again, pointing to someone ahead, “I think I have an idea of who we might talk to about all this.” Following his finger, their eyes landed on one of the Queen’s guard.

 _Rhodes_.

“He went _really_ pale like the Queen when he heard the name,” Clint said. “None of the other guards reacted until after Count Stane helped her with the tea.”

As they watched, Rhodes stumbled after the Queen and her attendants, nothing of the poised and polished soldier Natasha had witnessed on their rescue of Bucky, none of that confidence to be seen, a haunted expression on his face.

Rhodes caught them watching him, and hurried after the Queen.

“He… knows Stark,” Bucky realised. “They all do.”

“None of them seemed eager to explain how though,” Clint pointed out.

Natasha’s eyes stayed trained on Rhodes’ retreating back, thinking to herself. “We need to speak with him alone.”

Clint seamlessly slipped away into the shadows, and Natasha finally loosened her grip on Bucky’s arm. Quietly the couple walked down the hallway, very aware of all the eyes and ears on them from servants and guards, watching and being watched. It felt like a good time for a private walk outside in the garden to make some plans.

 

* * *

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Zola said, hooking up several wires and tubes to the glass case holding Steve.

Steve was already hooked up with more wires to himself, and could do nothing but watch as Zola stepped back and closed the glass case. He spun a wheel to lock it closed, then retreated to a desk piled high with papers. Some of the wires from the glass case ran to a little box on the desk, with a round dial, the pointer hovering over a colour wheel that ran from white to dark blue. Zola set the dial to point at white and then hurried to stand by a large lever next to a water wheel.

“This has taken me half a lifetime to invent,” Zola admitted, a proud twisted grin on his face. “I’m sure you’ll soon realise my deep and abiding interest in unlocking the secrets of the human body. Extending life. Preserving it. Eventually, even, enhancing it… It’s immortality that I’m after, to be quite honest. If my experiments work, my name will surely last beyond my mortal body.”

He had to stretch to his tiptoes to reach the lever, but Zola didn’t move to pull it down just yet.

“At the moment, I’m writing the definitive work on the subject, so I’ll need you to be completely honest with me about how the Machine makes you feel.”

“I won’t hold anything back,” Steve said darkly.

Zola didn’t seem to notice the tone, laughing a raspy “Good!” before pulling the lever down.

Water started pouring down a chute and the big wooden wheel started turning with a groan. Sparks sizzled down several wires from the wheel to the little control box on the desk, and Zola went to pick it up.

He cast a considering look at Steve over the rim of his glasses, “You look strong, but as it’s your first try, I’ll use the lowest setting.”

Zola turned the dial just a fraction, the pointer hovering over a pale blue so faint a shade it was hardly a colour at all.

Whatever was holding the glass case gave a violent shudder under him, but nothing felt different straight away. The first sign that something was in fact happening, was when Steve realised he could see his breath in front of him, wisps of white that fogged up the glass. The metal cuffs all over him became bitterly cold, it felt like they were burning the skin, and the air was only growing colder.

Every breath became a great effort, his bones were rattled, and despite the burning pain that was coursing through him, Steve could feel himself only growing colder still. It was agony the likes of which he’d only felt once before, just after being given Erskine’s strange shot. But it was like a reversal of it. Steve felt like every ache he’d had in his sickly life before Erskine was returning.

The air— the air felt like it wasn’t getting into his lungs, no matter how deeply he breathed. But he must have been getting air in because suddenly Steve realised he was screaming. His scream rang loud and horrifying from the glass case, and he didn’t know if the Machine was shaking him, or if he was making the Machine shake.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The glass which had frosted over began to clear, and his whole body slumped against the restraints as though liquified, and when Steve managed to force his eyes open, he saw Zola watching entirely enthralled from the desk, one hand furiously scribbling away on a sheet of paper.

“That went very well,” Zola said, apparently uncaring to the state Steve was in. “What did this do to you? Tell me. And remember, this is for knowledge beyond your comprehension, so be honest now - how do you feel?”

Steve could only manage a keening half-sob, his ravaged throat carrying none of the volcanic fury he felt blazing through him.

“Interesting,” Zola nodded, adding something more to his notes.

Steve could picture very vividly throttling the smaller man, just wrapping a hand under that bobbing chin, and shaking to see how interesting Zola found it then. But he could only picture it. He was still bound, at the mercy of this madman and his Machine.

“It’s fascinating, really, but the lower settings are actually more painful. Or, more accurately, the pain is the same but drawn out,” Zola said. “The higher settings happen much faster, so the pain is apparently more fleeting before the stopping point is reached.”

With his eyes glued to the dial, Steve could feel his heart start to pound harder when he saw Zola trace the dial with a finger, not turning it, not just yet. He seemed quite happy to carry on the one-sided conversation with Steve a little longer.

“At least, that is what the data I’ve gathered tells me. My subjects tend not to last overly long.” Zola sighed, looking at the other stacks of papers piled on the desk. “I don’t even know what might happen to a subject if I used the highest setting. One day perhaps…”

Steve watched the man turn the dial, and he closed his eyes as he prepared himself for another bout of pain.

“I have high hopes for you though. With you, we might manage to carry on to Phase Two.”

The glass case started to shake under him again, and Steve let out a new scream.

 

* * *

 

It was three days after the lunch together, and the King sat at his desk, scowling fiercely at the papers in front of him. The crown was off and set aside to rest on a velvet cushion displayed behind him. It left him free to turn his hair into a mess, running hands through the dirty blond hair, as he thought and rethought his plans. The Count sat across from him today, leaning back in his chair staring out of the window, fingers steepled over his belly.

A knock sounded, before the door opened and the King’s valet walked in followed by Hammer.

He bowed low, and followed it by kneeling, “Sire.”

“Right, Hammer,” the King looked up from his desk. “As Chief Enforcer for all of Florin, I entrust in you this secret: killers from Guilder are infiltrating the Thieves’ Forest, and they plan to murder the Princess and her new husband on their wedding night.”

“My spy network has heard nothing of this,” Hammer said.

“Do you doubt my sources?” the Count drawled, not even bothering to turn around, staring still at the moon outside.

“Of course not, my Lord,” Hammer hurried to say. “I only meant—”

The door opened again. Not waiting for a knock, Natasha strode into the room, taking in the three men with a quick sweep of her eyes. The Count got to his feet, bowing his head to the Princess.

“Any word on Steve yet?” Natasha asked frankly. “Sergeant Barnes is adamant he will return soon.”

“Nothing yet, my dear,” the King said. “I will let you both know.”

The Princess nodded and left the room with a rustle of her skirts.

The King turned back to Hammer, still knelt on the ground. “She and Sergeant Barnes will not be murdered. I want the Thieves’ Forest emptied and every inhabitant arrested before the wedding.”

“Many of the thieves will resist. It won’t be easy, Sire,” Hammer said. “It will take time.”

“You have a week. I know you have put together a Brute Squad. _Use it_!” the King roared.

Hammer bobbled his head and scuttled out of the room, his back still bent in a bow.

The King sighed, falling back in his seat. He propped up his cheek on one fist. “The people are quite taken with the Sergeant. And the Princess has commanded the respect of the whole Kingdom. It’s a change of plans, but I think it will be so much more moving when they both die on their wedding night.”

“Yes, your Majesty, and when Guilder is blamed, the people will be truly outraged,” the Count said. “They will _demand_ we go to war.”

“Hmm, yes. And you’ve finished preparations?”

“My men are still working - they are pioneering new weapons, your Majesty. They haven’t finished testing yet, but we will be ready when you declare war,” the Count assured him.

“And how far have you got on locating those lackeys of Stone’s? I should’ve never hired that slug.”

“Not far, unfortunately,” the Count admitted. “My spies have yet to find either of them.”

The King glared down at his desk, working his jaw, “Have you at least found out if it’s true? About Stark?”

“Nothing says it is him,” the Count said, but he looked nervous.

“Nothing says it _isn’t_ ,” the King huffed. “No doubt if it were true, and Stone could put together enough of what happened, he’d have used the information to squeeze more out of me.”

“It was always a risk when hiring a man like him, but he’s dead, your Majesty. Stone won’t trouble us now.”

The King waved him away, grumbling petulantly.

The Count paused at the doorway, “Are you coming down to the Pit later? Zola said he’s starting with the water tonight since that pirate has been holding up so well.”

“Obadiah, you know how much I enjoy watching Arnim work, but I’ve got my country’s five hundredth anniversary to plan, my daughter’s wedding to arrange, the happy couple to murder, and Guilder to frame for it,” the King motioned to all the papers on his desk, “I’m swamped.”

The Count nodded seriously. “Get some rest, Alexander. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything,” he said before leaving and closing the door behind him.


	4. The Bad Dream and The Thieves' Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are horrible secrets learned of the past, and equally awful plans unveiled for the future...

####  **The Bad Dream**

Five days before the Crown Princess’ provisional wedding day, and coming off his third stint of duty in the Queen’s quarters, James Rhodes was perhaps not at his most attentive. He yawned on his way to the guard barracks, stripping off his armour and putting it neatly back in the castle arsenal. He kept his sword with him, and plodded past the mess hall, too tired to be hungry.

Rubbing his eyes, he turned the corner to the dorms and yelped when several shadowy arms grabbed him, and a bag was dropped over his head.

No one heard his shouts, everyone else was already asleep in their bunks or quickly shovelling the supper slop into their mouths before the late shift. No one would miss him at midnight roll call either. The captain of the Queen’s guard wouldn’t expect him, not after three back-to-back shifts. The young man was dedicated but surely needed some rest now.

And that was how James Rhodes’ time off started: abducted inside the very castle walls he protected.

He was blindly pushed and dragged through the castle, and eventually made to sit on a plush chair. Hands on his shoulder kept him seated, and he listened to a door behind him close and lock.

When the bag was pulled off his head, he swore.

“Rhodes,” Natasha greeted him calmly, coolly sat on a chair in front of him. Clint stood to one side of him, Bucky on the other. All eyes were on him. “We need to talk.”

“Of course, your Highness. What is this about?” Rhodes asked politely.

“You must have some idea,” Natasha said. “You can’t have been avoiding us for days over nothing.”

“I have been _working_ , in fact, not avoiding—”

“Tell me about Stark.”

Rhodes’ jaw tightened, “I don’t know, shouldn’t you ask Sergeant Barnes? He’s the one who got kidnapped by the man.”

“Not that Stark. I mean the Stark _you_ know. The Stark whose very name had both my parents and Count Stane acting like they’d seen a ghost.” Natasha pinned him to his seat with only those lethal green eyes. “I want to know about _that_ Stark.”

She watched the man slump in his seat, shoulders drooping under Clint and Bucky’s hands, an expression of devastation cleaving to his face. Rhodes couldn’t seem to look at her. “You won’t believe me. I have nothing but my word that what I say is true.”

“Talk.”

Rhodes sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. He shook off the hands on him and curled over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Your mother,” he spoke softly. “I knew your mother when I was a boy.”

Clint slid over to the door, bracing his back against it even though it was locked. Bucky moved to stand somewhere behind Natasha, silent as they all listened.

“I knew her as Maria Stark,” Rhodes said. “She was the mother of my best friend.”

 

* * *

 

_Her heart fluttered in her chest, about ready to burst out with joy, she could hardly contain her laughter. Bobbie Rhodes’ round face was alight with the same excitement, the two women nearly skipping out of the carriage with the help of Bobbie’s dear boy. The day had been bitterly cold, especially for spring, and already the darkness of night captured the sky though it was early yet. A strange day, but not even the biting snow soaking her shoes could bring her mood down._

_Bobbie waved her on, laughing, and Maria didn’t put up even a token protest. Bobbie and her boy could see to the horse and carriage right now._

_Maria nearly danced to the house, biting her lip to hold back her grin._

_Her delight faltered slightly when she saw the door already open, but no one there to greet her._

_Odd. Ana might have been busy in the kitchen, but her genteel husband would surely have heard the carriage roll up the avenue. He had ears like a bat, Mr Jarvis did. Perhaps he was helping Howard in the workshop, as often happened. That would explain it. Though it would be unlike him to leave the front door open and unattended like this._

_Maria shrugged off her woollen cloak and stepped through the doorway, making to call out her greetings, eager once again to share her joy, when she noticed muddy slush trailing inside ahead of her in several distinct boot prints scuffed on the floor._

_Mr Jarvis would never stand such untidiness._

_Shivering, Maria felt her heart beating faster, not knowing - or not wanting to know - why she wasn’t making a sound. She walked further inside on silent feet now, noting paper scraps of Howard’s scribbles scattered down the hall. Those usually never left the workshop._

_The kitchen door was ajar. It beckoned to her, mocking, as much as a door could mock. Maria pushed the door and nearly felt her knees give out at what she found behind it._

_Mr Jarvis lay prone in a puddle of blood, dark red seeping into the stone. His eyes were still open, pale irises glazed as he appeared to stare straight at her. Maria couldn’t tell how he’d been wounded, his jacket so thoroughly soaked through it was hard to distinguish one wound from another. Half his dear face, his sharp nose, were pressed against the floor and now painted red._

_Maria covered her mouth to hold back a scream, though nothing would stem the tears when she laid her eyes upon Ana._

_One of Ana’s small hands was still clenched tight on Mr Jarvis’ sleeve, fallen beside him, red blooming from her chest, dripping down to her pale throat. Her eyes were closed, as if she’d only nodded off if it wasn’t for the grief frozen on her face and the tears on her cheeks. She must have found him like that before she’d… Ana looked so small now. So still. So unlike herself._

_The house was so quiet._

_Maria reached out, her cloak falling at her feet, hands hovering, not quite sure where to touch, when a horrible thought burned through her mind. “Howard,” she whispered. And then more desperately, “Tony!”_

_The scuffle of boots behind had Maria whipping around, but it was only Bobbie and her boy, both gaping and wide-eyed at the- the- the bodies on the kitchen floor. Bobbie grabbed her son, turning him away, covering his eyes and pulling him close, and Maria needed to do the same._

_She raced through the kitchen, heading for the back, slamming open the back door. She needed to get to the workshop. That’s where she’d find her boys. They were always there—_

_There was a man in the yard, standing over a body._

_And beyond them, illuminated by moonlight, the workshop… half the building… it looked like it had exploded, been torn apart—_

_Maria screamed - no no no no - running to the workshop, but the man stopped her, bundling her up into his arms and bringing her back to the body, gentling them both to their knees. “Shhh,” Obie hushed her. “Shhh, Maria it's too late.”_

_She couldn’t look, but she couldn’t not look either, and Maria faced the body of her husband, crying so hard she could hardly see him. Howard stared at the sky above, mouth slack underneath his dark moustache, chest still and wet with blood, one arm flung out loosely holding a sword._

_“He fought hard,” Obie said to her, like that would somehow comfort Maria. “You can see that. They forced him out here before—”_

_“Tony!” Maria gasped. “Where’s Tony?”_

_She pushed at Obie’s arms, something inside her telling her to go to the wrecked workshop, but Obie caught her again. “No, no you don’t need to see that.”_

_“He- then he was- he was inside when- you’ve seen him?”_

_Obie paused, “... There wasn’t much to see.”_

_Maria jerked to the side and vomited, heaving onto the snow, her hands digging down into the soil as she sobbed. “No,” she wailed. “No! Not my Tony! My little boy!” She dragged herself back to Howard, gathering him up in her arms._

_He was already cold. Blood soaked the front of her dress, all over her chest and belly, a vivid red. Her arms ached and her back hunched over and all she could see was that bright red colour everywhere._

_“Howard!” she screamed. “Howard!”_

“Your Majesty!”

Maria shot upright in bed, her hands shaking, clenched tightly to the bedsheets like they had once to red-stained linens. It took a moment for her to shake the memories, the nightmares, to clear her head and see one of her maids standing at the foot of her bed, a candle lit in one hand.

“Aida,” Maria straightened her nightgown. “What is it?”

“You were shouting again, your Majesty,” the younger woman said, voice soft as always. “I woke you. Like you asked.” Aida pushed her long dark plait back over one shoulder. “Shall I prepare some of your tea?”

When Maria didn’t answer straight away Aida stepped closer, leaning over the foot of the bed and looking more ghoulish than the dreams.

“It usually helps you settle down. I’ll go do that now.”

Maria dropped back onto the bed, clinging to the sheets and biting back another scream.

 

* * *

 

By the end, Rhodes had covered his face with his hands, his breath hitching as he’d finished speaking. He hadn’t cried, but Natasha thought it was from more than just stubborn pride. The way he’d told his story, it was said in a way so nearly matter-of-fact that it was obvious he’d tortured himself reliving those memories over and over until he’d become almost numb to it. There were simply no more tears to give.

Natasha didn’t know quite what to do herself. The story Rhodes had told had not been anything like what she’d expected. She wasn’t even sure herself of what she’d expected, but it wasn’t _that_. For the first time in a long time, Natasha was struggling to think of something to say.

Bucky went to Rhodes’ side, grasping him tightly on the shoulder, not the restraining hold from before but a sign of comfort, to show that he wasn’t alone. A true tale or not, the man was clearly suffering. Bucky didn’t bother with useless platitudes and asked instead something he wished had been asked to him when he’d first learnt that Steve was dead. “You need anything?”

Rhodes shook his head, wiping at his face before sitting back. Bucky didn’t take his hand away and he wasn’t shrugged off, so Bucky stayed at his side. Rhodes’ mouth was pinched to a thin line, but he stared steadily back at Natasha, waiting for whatever came next.

“I’ve heard nothing about any of this before,” Natasha admitted, a little suspicious. But she was always a little suspicious.

Rhodes merely nodded, looking unsurprised. “No one talks about it. The circumstances around your mother’s marriage to the King seem to be a taboo topic. People have been known to disappear from talking about it.”

That was alarming to hear. “And is that why you have frequently dropped your duties to the castle for long unexplained absences?” Natasha said. Rhodes looked a little surprised now. “I haven’t simply been idle these past days while waiting to speak with you in private. I’m very good at finding all sorts of information.”

He sighed, “It is one of the reasons I keep leaving. But I always come back—”

“And you’re always punished severely for abandoning your duties,” Clint carried on for him. “And you never give any explanation for your absence. And you’re bumped right back down to the bottom of the shitpile to work your way up again. And you never make any complaint.”

“What other reason do you have for leaving?” Natasha asked. “It must be a good one, to subject yourself to that kind of treatment on each return.”

“You’ll call me a fool,” Rhodes said with certainty.

“I call many people fools. Give me your reason.”

Bucky dropped his hand now from Rhodes, and stepped back to listen with the others. “My brother-in-law is a merchant, he travels a lot for his work, and takes my sister and their daughter with him. Sometimes… they hear rumours.”

Natasha frowned, “Rumours about what?”

Rhodes squirmed in his seat. “About a man passing through they might’ve heard with the name Stark.” He bristled instantly at the incredulous looks he got. “They never found a body! The ‘shop was a mess, but it wasn’t completely destroyed. There should have been _something_ left behind, but there wasn’t!”

“You think your—” Natasha sighed, thinking on how best to label this person. “Your friend… survived?”

“You don’t know him like I did, but if anyone could, it’d be that crazy kid.”

“It’s been more than twenty years,” Bucky pointed out. “You don’t even know what he might look like by now.”

“I’ll know,” Rhodes insisted.

“So your sister sends word, and you just drop everything and risk your life and livelihood to go check out any little vague rumour? _Repeatedly_?” Clint asked, the look on his face half-awe and half-questioning the sanity of the man in front of them. “For twenty years?!”

“I wasn’t able to start searching properly until I was an adult, so it’s been more like fifteen years of searching,” Rhodes pointed out. He didn’t seem to care about the madness of his actions, crossing his arms. “He’d do the same for me.”

That silenced the three of them. Natasha realised how futile it would be to argue more about this with him - she’d be fighting about a dead person. At best, Rhodes was admirably loyal and dedicated to a fault. At worst, he was delusional and possibly dangerous.

And Rhodes seemed to sense their doubt, saw that for all the sympathy on their faces during his story, they didn’t think that his friend was alive. It was as he’d predicted before the whole tale, “You don’t believe me.”

“You haven’t got much to convince me,” she said bluntly. “As it is, what you’ve suggested about my mother could be construed as slanderous - treasonous, even, at a stretch—”

“Then it’s a good thing I haven’t told you my thoughts on the King and _his_ friends!” Rhodes snarled.

He shot to his feet, brushing past Bucky and staring down Clint until they both stepped aside. It was only when he’d turned back at the door, giving a sharp bow that conveyed plenty without needing a word, that Natasha realised it was the first time that any geniality toward her was missing from Rhodes’ actions. There was a detachment now, a visceral chill in his manner that hadn’t been present before their talk. And Natasha… didn’t like the change.

Rhodes straightened from his bow with a stony look on his face, his eyes not quite meeting Natasha’s when he spoke, “If that will be all, your Highness. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t even wait for a proper dismissal.

He unlocked the door, a hand on the handle about to leave, and suddenly Natasha had to say something, had to keep him here a little longer, she wanted - needed - to unravel more of this mystery.

“Why come back?” she asked. Rhodes turned his head slightly, all she could see was a sliver of his face, but Clint was watching him closely and that was good enough for her. “Why not stay out there and look for your friend all the time?”

He took his time before answering, the moment drawn out until some strange hush fell over the room.

“I may never find Tony,” Rhodes whispered, as if to say those words too loud would make them true. “But those he left behind are still here. I try to watch over them for him. Like he'd want. Like he'd do for me.”

Then Rhodes slipped out of the room before Natasha could think of anything else to ask. Clint looked at her, a hand on the door, ready without words to go if she wanted Rhodes brought back. She knew Clint could do it. But the Princess had enough to think about as it was, and with a twitch of her head he stood down.

Bucky had a strange expression on his face.

Natasha wondered whether Bucky was as sceptical as her about what they’d heard. After all, it hadn’t even been a week ago that his True Love had miraculously returned to him, alive and well, after years of believing him dead. Perhaps Bucky held out some hope for Rhodes’ friend. Or maybe Bucky felt sorry for Rhodes, that his story wouldn’t have so happy an ending as his own.

Natasha beckoned to Clint, and he slunk over on silent feet. “Well, that story was wild from start to finish,” he said.

“He didn’t lie,” Bucky said with certainty, still eyeing the door.

“Just because Rhodes believes what he said was true, doesn’t make it true,” Natasha said. “We need to verify his story.”

“He said people have disappeared if they talk about this,” Bucky pointed out.

“We don’t know if that’s true either.”

Bucky scowled, “You’re gonna risk someone’s life on the off chance it isn’t?”

“And Rhodes mentioned something about the King,” Clint added. “We might not wanna go poking a bear before we know how far it can reach.”

“So then,” Natasha said, tapping her lip as she thought. “We’ll just have to find someone to talk to who can’t be made to disappear so easily.”

 

* * *

 

Thor whistled to himself as he hauled another two thieves over to the penning area, one dangling from each hand. The Brute Squad had been clearing the occupants from the Forest for three days, and already the thieves had learned to dismantle the wooden wagons Hammer had initially brought in. He’d ordered some larger metal carriages, but until those arrived, any crooks they picked up were simply housed in a reinforced pig pen. They only had four more days to clear the Forest, so Hammer couldn’t afford to have them wait on the carriages.

The thieves weren’t happy about any of it.

It was easy work for Thor though, as he cheerily tossed his two captives over the metal fence and into the pigpen, delighting in the _squelch_ and angry swearing that sounded as they landed in the mud. Dusting his hands off, Thor paused when he noticed a new man standing by the pen.

He wasn’t one of the Brute Squad. Thor had met all of them, and the man wasn’t muscular enough besides. The man wore a black cloak too, which none on the Brute Squad possessed. As the man turned to walk around the pen, Thor glimpsed some sort of insignia on the cloak.

Thor crept after the man, curious now, and something sparked in his mind as he got a better look at what was stitched onto that cloak. A beam of light caught the silver on the design as the man ducked a swipe from an unhappy thief in the pen, and Thor felt his insides freeze.

 _Two… four… six…_ there were ten rings on that crest!

Thor hurried closer, sidling up to the man, a wide smile on his face, “Good morning!”

The man startled, clutching a posy of fresh herbs under his nose. “… Good morning.”

“What are you doing here?” Thor asked, tilting his head. His eyes quickly took in the lack of sword on the man’s hip, and the mean little eyes on a squashed face looking up at him. “Are you another one of Hammer’s men?”

The man scoffed, “I work for Count Stane! Not that snivelling Hammer brown-noser.”

“Ah,” Thor nodded, filing that name away. “That must be his crest on your fine cloak.”

“Yes,” the man said, preening as he smoothed a hand down the front of the garment.

“Then what is it you’re doing here? A man of your high standing _surely_ has no place here among the rest of us, and beside a pig-sty no less,” Thor said sweetly.

The man smiled, sticking his piggy little nose up, eagerly lapping up the praise. “The Count sent many of us out on an important mission. I am one such person.”

“How exciting,” Thor said, huddling closer. “What mission is it?”

“You must have heard how the Princess’ betrothed was kidnapped a week ago. He was recovered swiftly, of course, the Princess herself led the rescue.” Thor gave a vacuous smile back, and the man seemed more than happy to go on uninterrupted. “The Count is now hunting down the kidnappers that escaped,” the man said. “One is already dead, and we have names and descriptions of the other two. Death for them too, I expect.”

Keeping the dumb smile on his face, Thor tried not to panic - _one is already dead_ \- the fool in front of him might have wrong information. But if he was right… “And you believe the kidnappers to be among these thieves?”

“This is where I was sent,” the man said, looking put out about his assignment, sniffing at his posy again. “I’m certain there was some sort of mistake.”

“Why don’t you tell me the descriptions?” Thor suggested to him, hoping his expression was suitably guileless. “I arrested many of these thieves, I’m sure I would recognise if I had caught one of the kidnappers you seek. And perhaps I can help you be done with this area quickly.”

The little man brightened, “Oh, yes. Excellent idea.”

“Well then?”

“The first man is called Stark,” the man frowned. “They didn’t give much of a description, other than he was a swordsman.”

Relief unfurled in his chest, and Thor had to concentrate on not bursting with joy. His friend was alive! And their cruel master was the one, it seemed, who was dead. The day was turning out quite wonderful already. “I have seen none with a sword, sir. Though many have knives.”

The man scowled at the thieves milling about in the pen, who merely threw back equally put out faces, along with a few crude hand gestures. “The other goes by the name Thor. He’s blond…”

His voice trailed off as the man slowly turned and looked at Thor again, more carefully this time. It was quite amusing watching the realisation slowly dawn on his face.

“Tall…” the man said. “With big muscles. And…” His eyes darted to the hammer hanging from Thor’s belt. He started visibly sweating, knees shaking as he took a step away from Thor. “And he c-carries a hammer as a weapon.”

Thor smiled.

“What did you say your name was, again?”

Picking a name out of nowhere, Thor offered a half-hearted “Donald.”

“ _You_ \- you’re under arrest!” the man squeaked, pointing a wobbling finger in Thor’s face. “By order of the—!”

The pompous man deflated after a _thunk_ to the top of his head from one fist, and fell in a heap at Thor’s feet. _How disappointing_ , though Thor gave the man credit for still trying to arrest him. It was probably the boldest act the little man had ever attempted.

Kneeling down, Thor stripped the man of his cloak, stuffing it away in his shirt. Patting down the unconscious man, he unearthed a decent pouch of coins and little else of use. The thieves were watching him from inside the pen, but no one had raised any sort of alarm. A few were even sniggering, stepping aside as Thor picked up the knocked out man, and tossed him over the fence into the pen with them.

He then strutted away from the pig pen, a witless grin on his face as he passed Hammer, even dropping the man a sloppy salute.

And nobody stopped him. They rarely did. Thor had long perfected the ability to unobtrusively pass under watchful eyes. It wasn’t that people didn't see him, or thought him harmless. It was that he wore such an expression of empty-headedness that nobody imagined Thor was clever enough to actually _do_ anything by himself.

When Thor was out of earshot he quickened his pace to a loping run, long legs easily eating up a distance. Stark, if he’d truly survived, would also have made his way to the rendezvous like Thor. Perhaps he had already reached the Thieves’ Forest. Thor had to find his friend before any others did. He only hoped that Stark would manage to avoid attracting any undue attention until then.

 

* * *

 

Natasha marched into the Queen’s chambers, with little fanfare and no announcement, startling her mother’s ladies-in-waiting. She felt like a fox in the henhouse with all the clucking and fuss made about her sudden visit.

“I wish to speak to my mother alone,” Natasha said simply. “Get out.”

The ladies looked like they wanted to protest, but Natasha easily stared them down until they had no choice but to curtsey and swan out of the room with pinched looks on their faces. The guards were harder to shuffle out. Rhodes wasn’t on duty today, and Natasha didn’t want anyone else listening in on this conversation. It took all the superior, snobbish attitude of a spoiled princess that Natasha could draw up, to get the guards to leave.

Bucky closed the door behind them, bracing himself against it, and attempting to blend into the woodwork. With Clint lurking about on the lookout for eavesdroppers, it was about as private as they could get in the castle on short notice.

The Queen didn’t seem to have noticed the change in the company. She was still sat with a quilt drawn over her knees and tea laid out on a table at her side. Natasha pulled another chair over and sat in front of the Queen. “Mother,” she waited until green eyes met her own. “I had some questions.”

“Questions…?”

“About marriage.”

The Queen blinked, fine blonde eyebrows rising up her forehead. “I thought we’d already had some discussions about—”

“No, not that,” Natasha said hurriedly. “I was wondering how long you knew father. Before you married him.”

“He was already the King. Everyone knew about him.”

“ _Personally_ , I mean. How well did you know him yourself before you married?”

“Oh,” the Queen frowned in thought. “I didn’t. I met him for the first time at the wedding.”

“Then, it was arranged?”

Natasha had never imagined her parents’ marriage to be one of love: one was a revered war hero, king of a powerful nation, and ruthless military strategist; the other a gentlewoman, whose expertise seemed to lay in music, her fiercest weapon an embroidery needle.

At best, they’d learned to tolerate each other over the years. Though usually the King seemed to treat his wife as a pretty ornament to be trotted out and shown off on occasion. And the Queen seemed to pay him equally little attention, drifting her way between appointments with a cloud of attendants.

“Yes, it was arranged.”

“By your parents?”

“No,” the Queen shook her head. She picked up her teacup to drink, but Natasha set a hand over the rim and pushed the cup back down.

“Who then?”

“Obadiah arranged it, of course,” the Queen said, hand trembling and rattling the teacup. “He and the King were already friends.” It seemed suddenly so strange to Natasha that she had never before questioned her mother’s vague past. She could recite the King's lineage all the way back to the founding of Florin, but for the Queen... nothing. The Queen had always simply been _there_ , a gentle presence at the corner of her eye, and it was an oversight to have taken it all at face value. “They wanted it done fairly quick,” the Queen added.

“Why the rush?”

The Queen dropped her gaze back to the tea.

Natasha was still holding the cup down, the steam dampening her palm.

“I… I don’t want to talk about this,” the Queen whispered, hand shaking harder now though she still refused to let go of the teacup, her face pale and chest hitching on every breath. “Natasha, you’re upsetting me now.” Fear was not something Natasha had seen on her mother before. The Queen always maintained a serene look about her.

Glancing at the tea, Natasha wondered how much of that serenity was natural.

A muted staccato of knocks sounded on the door, and Bucky hurried over to nudged Natasha from her seat with a low, “Time to go.” He barely bobbed a bow to the Queen before ushering Natasha out of the room and down the hallway. Clint appearing behind them from out of nowhere.

“She’s hiding something,” Natasha hissed. “About the wedding.”

“I think I have an idea of what that is,” Clint huffed, scratching at his nose. “Their anniversary wasn’t too long ago, right?”

“And?” Bucky asked.

Clint wiggled his eyebrows at them, “Our Princess here was born end of the autumn.” Natasha felt her brain stutter even as her guard continued talking. “Now I’m no expert, but if her parents really did only meet at their summer wedding, something doesn’t add up there with the baby-making.”

 

* * *

 

####  **The Thieves’ Forest**

It ended up taking a whole day for Thor to stumble across Tony. The bigger man had almost lost hope, he’d searched everywhere he could while avoiding his fellow Brute Squad members and anyone wearing a black cloak like the one he was carrying. In avoiding the Brute Squad, Thor would have missed Tony altogether, if he hadn’t overheard a loud voice behind the alehouse.

“I - WILL - NOT - BE - MOVED!”

Tony - puffy-eyed, stubbly, and swaying where he stood - threw venomous looks at the Brute in front of him. He waved a mostly empty bottle in the Brute’s face as he carried on, brandy slopping out with each sharp movement.

“I am waiting,” Tony hiccuped once, but all of his words were carefully enunciated. “Here. I am waiting for someone _here_. I’m supposed to be- I’m not moving. Don’t push me again.”

“The King has given orders—”

“So did Stone! If the job goes wrong, go back to the beginning. Well - _here I am!_ ” Tony bellowed, throwing out his hands and accidentally flinging the bottle at another passing Brute’s head, knocking the man out. “We got the job here, I’m waiting _here_! Leave me alone.”

The Brute in front of Tony, much bigger than the swordsman, seemed to lose patience with the drunk man. He prodded Tony hard in the chest with a pudgy finger, making him stumble back, “You _will_ move!”

A yowl sounded from their feet, and the Brute looked down to see a tiny grey kitten hissing at him, back arched and fur on end, angrily spitting at the Brute and swiping at him with teeny claws. Tony tutted, squatting down and plucking the kitten off its feet. “You dumb cat,” Tony wobbled in his crouch. “He’s a big brute, and you’re a tiny hairball, what’re you doing?”

Gaping down at the swordsman, who’d dismissed him over a baby _cat_ , the Brute drew back his club, intending to knock out the drunk man and just drag him to Hammer. A large hand wrapped around his throat though, and the Brute found himself suddenly jerked away, his feet leaving the ground. It was as if he’d been launched from a cannon.

Thor watched the other man sail through the air with some satisfaction. The Brute crashed into a wooden shed that, from the smell, was a public privy. It served him right for attacking a man behind his back. Most unsportsmanlike.

The next time Tony looked around, kitten clutched to his chest, he was blinking up at Thor. The puzzled look on his face had Thor smiling gently down at his friend, “Hello.”

Tony stared for another second, before something clicked and he was beaming brightly, “It’s you!”

“It is!”

Thor grabbed Tony by the back of his vest and pulled him up to his feet, not unlike what Tony had done with the kitten earlier, keeping a hand on him when the swordsman’s legs didn’t seem able to hold him.

“You don’t look so well, my friend.” Tony blew a loud raspberry in protest, and Thor leaned back, scrunching his nose. “You don’t smell so good, either.”

“I feel fine though!” Tony insisted.

“Oh?” Thor released his hold on Tony and watched him nearly crumple when his knees buckled. He quickly caught the other man under his arms. “How much have you had to drink?”

Tony made an unhappy noise, letting the kitten jump down so he could tap at the centre of his chest. “Was hurting,” he mumbled, “A lot.”

Holding his friend up with one arm, Thor patted Tony on the chest. “And the brandy helps?”

“No. So I had a little from my flask, too.”

“How much is ‘a little’?” Thor asked, suspicious, already dreading the answer.

Tony smiled, and held up a hand, thumb and pointer finger half an inch apart, “A little.”

Thor grabbed at Tony’s vest, ignoring Tony’s squawking, and dug out the flask himself. The cork stopper was missing, and when he turned it upside down, there was hardly a drop left to fall. Thor gaped at his friend, “ _The_ _whole thing_?!”

“Oh,” Tony blinked at the flask. “Huh.”

“How have you remained conscious?!” Thor shrieked, grabbing Tony’s face, squishing his cheeks to check the swordsman’s bloodshot eyes. “When I gave you that flask, it was to _sip_ from!”

“You never said how many sips,” Tony sing-songed between his squashed lips.

Thor sighed, looking above for patience. “We do not have time for this. There are so many things I must tell you about.”

Tony smacked his lips and stared up at him, focusing somewhere around Thor’s left cheek. “I’m listening,” he said, with as much seriousness as he could muster. But Thor knew that nothing he said now would stick, not when Tony was in this state.

“Later,” he huffed, hauling his friend away from the alehouse. “First, we must sober you up.”

 

* * *

 

Rhodes visibly startled when he noticed the hush that fell across the mess hall. Clint watched him bristle when Rhodes turned to see him stood at the door. He still dutifully stood to attention, along with the handful of other guards present, but he didn’t appear at all happy about it.

“Her Highness requests more firewood,” Clint said, eyes giving the whole room a cursory look, before returning to Rhodes. “You - come help me fetch it for her.”

Unable to refuse the order from Clint, Rhodes took a deep breath and all but stomped out of the hall after the archer, grumbling under his breath, “If you were trying not to draw attention to me, you _massively failed_.”

Clint snickered as he led them through the castle and out to the wood sheds. They worked without a word, Rhodes dragging a wheelbarrow out of storage while Clint loaded it with logs.

Rhodes’ eyebrows steadily climbed up his forehead as Clint just kept on adding logs, stacking even more and more, pausing now and then to judge a log on its flammability by eye. His jaw started twitching when he realised Clint was now making the beginnings of a miniature log cabin in the wheelbarrow.

“Don’t you think you have enough?” Rhodes drawled.

Clint grinned, always pleased with his ability to piss someone off, “No idea. It’s for Barnes anyhow. He’s gone through her entire stockpile.”

“All of it?!”

“Right?” Clint shook his head, juggling a couple of logs. “The man’s got all the fires lit like a crazy person. I’m starting to think people had a much stupider reason for calling him the Winter Soldier than I thought.”

Rhodes frowned, “Is he actually cold?”

Bucky was acting crazy, burning through the castle stock of wood, and instead of joking about him having literal ‘cold feet’ like _everyone else_ had, Rhodes was asking if the man was  _actually_ cold. “He’s shivering a lot,” Clint admitted. “Apparently he’s feeling a chill no one else can.”

Clint watched the guard puzzle over this oddity, before he seemed to shrug it off, and added a few more logs to the wheelbarrow himself. It made Clint smile.

“You’re a good guy,” Clint told him.

“Thank you…?”

“I was suspicious of you at first when we went to rescue Barnes,” Clint said, but Rhodes didn’t seem surprised at that. It was, after all, pretty much Clint’s job to be suspicious of everyone who came near the Princess. “Couldn’t figure out why you were out with us when Count Stane provided more than enough men to help us. No one else from the castle guard volunteered. Looked up all I could find out about you, and the only things off were your random disappearances.”

Rhodes stood, steady as a tree, his face giving away nothing as he listened to Clint.

“I thought it meant you were fickle,” Clint said. “Impulsive. Adventurous, maybe. Nothing I couldn’t handle, of course, if that disloyalty put you against the Princess.”

Rhodes was glaring some now. Clint wasn’t sure whether it was from the slight against his loyalty, or from the certainty with which Clint had said he could beat him in a fight.

“But the story you told us—”

“The one which none of you believed.”

“—true or not, it’s something _you_ believe, and it told me everything I needed to know about you.”

“And what did you learn about me?” Rhodes asked with a scowl.

Clint grinned and answered the question with one of his own. “Do you know how I came to work for the Princess?” Around the castle, the general consensus was that Clint had simply appeared one day at the Princess’s side and just never left. “It’s a complicated story, but the bottom line is that we have a life debt to each other. Instead of that making us even, it made us allies, and eventually friends.”

Though it happened years ago, Clint could perfectly recall the day he first ‘met’ the Princess. He’d never done a contract kill before, but the pay was too good to pass up. He’d already done some pretty sketchy things - to survive, to pay off the family debts left to him, or just to get out of bad situations with worse people. The target was noted to be dangerous in close quarters, so the fact his speciality was in long-range weaponry was perfect.

He was little more than a boy though, arms and shoulders corded thick with muscle from archery, but face still soft and not a whisker to be seen on his chin.

And Natasha had been a child. Looks could be deceiving of course, Clint had later learned how capable Natasha could be even as a young girl. But still, someone already wanted her dead as a child.

He couldn’t go through with it in the end. Clint had made a different call. He’d turned around instead and run, as loud and annoying and trackable as he could manage, leading those same men who’d hired him on a chase around the world... and away from the young Princess.

In a twist of fate, Clint had eventually ended up back in Florin. With more broken bones than he could afford on the run, he’d found salvation in the very person he’d once been hired to kill. Older, deadlier, more dangerous and much more powerful, the once little Princess had called him an idiot and dozen much worse things, but she’d also thrown a dagger into the throat of a guy who’d been trying to kill Clint, so he knew things would work out.

“One decision - one person - changed my life.” Clint tossed another log into the wheelbarrow, eagerly watching the pile wobble. “For the better. I’ve never regretted any of it. The Princess has always had my back, just like I’ll always have hers. She’s my best friend.”

Clint turned back to face Rhodes, with a look of complete seriousness on his face, all of his focus on the man in front of him.

“If something ever happened to her, I don’t think I’d ever stop looking,” Clint said honestly, and it made Rhodes flinch. “And if she turned up in anything less than perfect condition, I’d hunt down the ones responsible, fuck the consequences, and anyone who got in my way.”

Rhodes wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead focused on making sure the wheelbarrow was steady. They hadn’t moved it, but Clint understood how standing still didn’t mean you couldn’t find the world shifting under your feet and making you fall anyway.

“See, something tells me that you might understand that kinda thinking.”

It wasn’t in any way Clint saying he believed the other man, but he could respect the fortitude, the stubborn certainty that he had about his friend. Rhodes didn’t say anything, just nodded sharply before picking up the handles of the wheelbarrow and starting to head back into the castle. Clint ambled beside him, juggling the loose logs that rolled off their overloaded cart.

When they reached the Princess’s quarters, Clint went to open the door for Rhodes but found himself pausing. “You said ‘them’,” Clint said. “Before, when the Princess asked you your reason for coming back between searches.”

“Yes,” Rhodes said, the word falling slowly from his mouth.

“The Queen,” Clint guessed, expecting Rhodes’ nod. Then, “And… the Princess, too?”

Rhodes simply smiled knowingly and said nothing as he motioned Clint to open the door. The archer didn’t even have the chance to do just that before the door was flung open, and a furious Natasha stood framed in the doorway, her eyes practically glowing. Bucky appeared behind her, looking even more solemn than when Clint had left.

Clint sighed, “What happened?”

“The entire fleet is accounted for in the Port,” Natasha hissed.

It took only a moment for Clint to connect the dots. “Barnes’ letters to Steve—”

“Have _not_ been sent, despite reports I had been getting,” Natasha growled, before stalking out of her rooms, sending a group of guards scattering further down the corridor. “I have been _lied_ to!”

“She’s off to speak with the King, then?” Clint groaned. Lying to royalty was a serious offence, he didn’t pity the fool when Natasha found them.

Bucky stepped out, looking pale and glum. “… I don’t know where Steve was taken,” Bucky said quietly. “I- I’ve lost him again.”

“No, no, you haven’t,” Clint said, “If anyone can find him again, the Princess will. She’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Rhodes snorted, “Though, you’d better go after her and make sure she doesn’t accidentally murder anyone on her way to the King.”

“Aww, Princess, no!” Clint grumbled, chasing after Natasha with Bucky at his heels.

 

* * *

 

“Dead?” Tony said, carefully rolling the word over his tongue. “You’re sure?”

Thor nodded, “It is only the two of us they seek. Apparently, the masked man defeated him.”

“Hah!” Tony grinned, throwing his arms up with a splash. “We’re free!”

His eyes were still a little glassy, but they focused on Thor clearer than they had earlier. Tony wiggled with glee where he sat in a water trough, soaked through from the waist to his boots. Thor kept a hold of his vest though, ensuring his drunk friend stayed dry from the neck up. He knew that the swordsman didn’t like getting his head wet unexpectedly. The frigid temperature of the shallow water seemed to help sober Tony, even if he was only sitting in it.

Tony’s cheeks were flushed and the lines around his eyes crinkled as he laughed, and Thor couldn’t help but join in. _They were free_. It was something to celebrate and delight in. “Stone’s dead!” Tony laughed again, throwing his sodden arms around Thor and pulling him into a tight hug. “Bless that beautiful masked bastard!”

Thor happily squeezed him back, grinning brightly. There had been moments after learning of Stone’s demise that had Thor feeling doubtful, even fearful, of what would become of him now. He might have loathed living under Stone’s rule, but the ways of these lands were still alien to him in many ways, even after all these years, and Stone at least had been an anchor to centre on. A horrible, evil little man - but Thor could trust that he would always be a horrible, evil little man.

Reunited with Tony, all doubts left him. Tony would not abandon him. Nor would he treat Thor as Stone had done. Tony was his friend, and he would help him now as he always had. Just as Thor would help him now.

“That is not all I have to tell you,” Thor said, pulling back.

It ached to tear down that rare joyful expression on Tony’s face, but Thor had known of his long quest seeking justice for his dead family. This would not make him happy, but he knew it would bring Tony closer to his goal.

Reaching into his tunic, Thor pulled out the cloak he’d taken from the pompous man the day before. He handed it to Tony and watched his friend take it, a baffled quirk to his brow. Thor knew immediately when Tony spotted the design stitched into the black cloth. The swordsman sobered quickly, knuckles turned white from the force of his grip on the cloak, and he gaped up at Thor, eyes reddened and frightened.

“Where did you find this?” Tony asked, voice a croaky whisper.

“When I was with the Brute Squad I saw a man wearing it. It was not his crest,” Thor hurried to say. “But the sigil of his master. I learned much of what I told you of Stone and the search for us from the man, and then went searching for you myself.”

“Do you- do you have a name?”

Thor nodded solemnly, looking his friend in the eye as he spoke. “His name is Count Stane.”

“Stane,” Tony echoed, turning back to the cloak, his gaze nearly setting the garment alight as he glared at those ten rings embroidered in silver thread. “I… it might be familiar? But I can’t remember… I didn’t really listen then… so stupid of me…”

“You were young,” Thor said gently. “A child.”

“He killed my whole family, you’d think I’d at least remember a name! Some _genius_ I am!” Tony spat. “Where is he?”

“Stane is with the King in the castle, but the castle gate is guarded by thirty men.”

Tony frowned, drumming his fingers on his chest as he muttered to himself, “We have to act fast.” He rubbed his head, “Fuck, but I can’t think with this hangover, and we need a plan.”

“You hate plans,” Thor pointed out. “You’ve said this many times.”

“Even with the two of us, it’s too many guards to handle without some sort of plan. We can’t just attack the castle,” Tony huffed. “There’s only so far improvising would take us.”

“Stone enjoyed making intricate plans,” Thor hummed. “It’s almost a shame he’s dead—”

“THAT’S IT!” Tony yelped, splashing them both as he teetered to his knees in the trough.

Thor stared and said slowly, “Stone is dead, Stark, remember?”

“No, not him,” Tony tutted, flapping a hand. “The masked man! He must have outwitted Stone, any man who can do that can plan a castle assault for me. We have to go.”

“Where?”

“To find the masked man, of course!” Tony cried.

Hauling Tony out of the trough, Thor sat his dripping friend on the ground. “We have a name now, and the makings of a plan for your revenge, but we must take care of you first,” Thor said, before straightening up. “You need food to absorb what alcohol is left slopping in your stomach. And a more thorough clean than a dip in a water trough.”

Tony’s head snapped up, a wild look about his eyes, “No! We don’t have time. What if Stane slips away again? Thor- Thor we have to find the masked man _now—_ ”

“If you face Stane now, you will surely lose,” Thor stated bluntly. “I wish you victory. Rest. Eat. Then when you face him, you will make your ancestors proud, and avenge your family with pride.”

The wild look hadn’t disappeared entirely, so Thor crouched next to his friend, patting Tony on the head as he would a child. The swordsman was clinging to the cloak as if he feared to lose it.

“I swear to you, Anthony, this Stane will not escape his fate. We will find the masked man, too.”

The use of his full name, so rarely spoken, seemed to settle something inside Tony. He nodded, still holding tightly to the cloak. “Go on then, I want roast mutton with potatoes. And a whole chicken pie. And - _oh_ \- fresh berries with cream!”

Thor chuckled, shaking his head as he stood, pulling Tony up to his feet. “You will get bread and stew and be happy for it.”

The swordsman barely wobbled now, new purpose propelling him forward with every step. Thor started to lead them away when Tony’s voice stopped him. His voice was quiet and tremulous in that way that kept Thor facing forward, offering the man some small privacy from the tears in his voice. Tears that likely also stained his face. “Thank you, Thor. You didn’t have to do all this…”

A bashful smile beamed from Thor’s face, and he had to resist scooping Tony up into another hug. “I know you would do the same for me, my friend.”

“I would,” Tony said, an ironclad promise ringing in his voice with the words. With that Thor hurried them onward to get them some food. The sooner Tony was back in fighting form, the sooner the man would get his revenge.

 

* * *

 

Hammer bowed deeply in front of the King’s desk. The King was more focused on sharpening a knife, “Rise and report.”

“The Thieves’ Forest is emptied, sire,” Hammer said smugly, pleased with having managed his task ahead of the deadline. “Thirty men guard the castle gate.”

“Triple it,” the King grunted. “The Princess and her groom are to be kept safe.”

Hammer stammered, “The gate has but one key, which I carry. I’ll need nearly all the guards—”

The Princess stormed into the room, a fiery look on her face as she faced the King. Hammer quickly scrambled back, away from that expression on her face, to hover outside the door.

“You never sent the ships with Barnes’ letters,” Natasha said. “Don’t bother lying.”

Clint and Bucky skidded into the room only seconds after her but the King didn’t even spare them a glance. His face dropped into a pitying look, “Did you really think I would waste my ships on some foolish hunt for Barnes’ old sweetheart? A _pirate_ at that?”

Natasha’s jaw twitched, her words snapping out from between clenched teeth, “I swore that man would be returned to his ship unharmed, pirate or not, but I suppose Stane was given different instructions from _you_ before we had even left.”

The King rose to his feet with a growl, “Do not question me.”

“Where is he?” Bucky asked, glaring at the King. “Where did you take him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the King said. “In three days time, you will marry the Princess—”

“He has a True Love!” Natasha hissed. “This isn’t right!”

Bucky shook his head, “I told you once if you ask me to marry her, expect that I will be dead the next morning.”

“Then die!” the King roared. “But you will marry the Princess first!”

“Steve will come back for me,” Bucky said with complete certainty, ignoring the King. “He and I are joined by the bonds of True Love, nothing can stop that. Not a thousand days, or a thousand swords, or a thousand leagues between us will keep us apart.”

The King slammed his hands on the desk, “I would not say such things if I were you—!”

“You undermined my own orders as Princess,” Natasha said.

“I am your King; my word will always overrule yours,” he said simply.

Natasha didn’t back down an inch, “One day, another will sit on that throne.” Her words were scandalous, treasonous, but the King didn’t look threatened at all.

“Someone worthy, perhaps, but I’ve found none.” The King looked down his nose at her, “You, for all the reputation you’ve gained, have always been too _weak_ , too soft-hearted, concerned with the little people, concerned with finding _peace_! Frightened of sounding the war-horn though you answered its call easily enough!” He turned to glare at Bucky then, “And _you_! Our greatest weapon, suddenly too _good_ to bloody your hands more, the same hands we gave to you! I made deadly what was once broken, saw potential when others saw death - _I made you!_ ”

The Princess took the words on the chin, unflinching at the words the King spewed, though Bucky seemed shocked, mostly over the fact someone was actually calling _Natasha_ a weak person.

“You’re a silly girl, just like your mother,” the King spat. “She couldn’t even give me the son I was promised.”

“And would he have been yours?” Natasha snapped. “Or another Stark?”

Her words silenced the King for a moment.

Natasha shot him a nasty smile of her own in triumph.

When the King started speaking again, he spoke in a low voice, “I was a young man when my father sent me on a diplomatic mission. He wished to negotiate peace between two neighbouring clans at war. Though I tried, neither side would back down from the other. They turned on us, attacked us, few of my party returned home alive. We later learned the two clans nearly wiped each other out.”

The King gave a hollow laugh.

“My stupid father achieved nothing,” the King said. “My injuries robbed me - no more Pierces would sit on the throne - and it was _all in the name of peace_. I learned on that day that peace shouldn’t be the goal, what we must strive for is _order_. Had we simply wiped out one of the clans ourselves, it would have saved many more lives. Negotiations should have simply been made over which clan deserved to live.”

Bucky stared at the man in disgust, “You’re talking of genocide! Mass murder!”

“War was the solution, not the problem,” the King continued, unrepentant, pride in every word. He turned to Natasha again, “I considered telling you everything, once, and bringing you into the fold. I thought I’d raised you right. But you weren’t strong enough to see through the flag you fought under. I knew you would never accept what I had long come to understand.”

Natasha gritted her teeth, her hands trembling in tight fists. She didn’t seem to notice as the King’s guards filed into the room behind them.

“In order to build a better world, for the peace you and my father so wanted, it sometimes means having to tear the old one down,” the King said.

“You’re insane!” Bucky barked, glaring fiercely.

“Not so much. Or at least, I am not so alone in my thinking. I am but one of many.”

Natasha dreaded the answer, “How many?”

“Too many for you both to stop.” The King started to smile, his grin carved deeper the wrinkles on his cheeks, and his pale eyes glittered, “Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place.”

Deep voices from the King’s guard rang around the room in a chilling cry of “HAIL, HYDRA! HAIL, HYDRA!”

“Hail, Hydra,” the King echoed their call with ease.

His men then leapt forward and grabbed Natasha and Bucky, forcing them down to their knees before the King. “No!” Bucky yelled, struggling against the hands on him. Natasha seemed too numb, too shocked to fight, gaping wide-eyed at the King in speechless horror. “No - we went to war with Hydra! I fought Hydra!”

“Did you?” the King said, his tone implying the complete opposite.

Bucky raged against the men holding him, but there were too many, and he was dragged out of the room with Natasha.

“Lock them in their rooms,” the King commanded. “Watch them until the wedding. And find that guard of hers, before he makes any trouble.”

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky yelled, desperate as he was bundled into the hallway. “What did you do with him? _Pierce!_ Answer me!” The King gave no answer but to shut his office door behind them, and Bucky roared as they were taken away still yelling for Steve.

Faced with the merciless force of the King’s guard bearing down the hallway, armed to the teeth and carrying the Princess and her bridegroom trussed between them, any maids and other castle guards scattered at their approach, too terrified to stop them. Another troop of the King’s guard sprinted through the castle on a search.

In their eagerness for the hunt, they hardly spared a thought when they passed a window left slightly ajar when all others were closed tight. Only a fool would try and escape from a window so high up in the castle, after all.


	5. The Frozen Man and The Noble Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they need to get a man and get into the castle...

####  **The Frozen Man**

Steve shivered where he lay in the glass case, his skin pimpled all over from the cold rattling him. The pain felt like it would never go away. He’d lost track of how long he’d been there, and how many times Zola had turned that dial, but over and over again Steve had found himself blasted with a cold so icy it burned him.

It was worse when Zola started using water.

Water had been pumped into the glass case. Steve had felt the water rising from the back of his head, up the sides until it covered his ears, lapping against his cheeks and muffling the sounds of his own screams to him. Steve became colder much faster when the water was used. Zola had been telling the truth too: the pain was no less at higher settings, it just happened faster.

And each time the torture was over, Steve would open his eyes and look to the side through the frosting glass, and see Zola happily scribbling away at his notes.

There had been few breaks. Zola seemed to be callously balancing the line between how far he could push Steve in a session and ensuring he still had something to play with at the next session. He’d told Steve repeatedly how well he was doing. No one else had ever lasted so long. Zola didn’t even bother to change the water between sessions anymore, impervious to the chatter of Steve’s teeth as he shivered in the shallow pool of water.

It had just been Zola and Steve and his screaming for so long, it took Steve a minute to realise there was someone new in the dark chamber. He blinked some more, trying to clear the ice on his eyelashes enough to see clearer.

An old man stood over the glass case, staring down at Steve with a deep frown. The man was finely dressed, a livery collar draped from shoulder to shoulder across the man’s chest, heavy gold carved with eagles.

Though he wasn’t wearing a crown, this could be only one man.

“You truly love each other, I see it now,” the King said calmly to Steve. “In another life, you could have been truly happy. But happy endings are for children’s storybooks, and one couple will not bring these plans to an end. I will suffer what I must to have order. Though I think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you.”

He turned sharply from Steve, pushing Zola away from his desk and snatching up the dial.

With a final look at Steve, the King twisted the dial, and the Machine below the glass case gave a great shudder.

“Not all the way!” Zola cried out.

“You can wait to see if he survives in two days,” the King said, watching the glass case as it flooded suddenly with more water. “Nothing until after the wedding.”

“My work—!”

Steve couldn’t even work up the energy to struggle, he was so tired. He closed his eyes and felt the water cover him, felt his lungs crying out for air, but stubbornly didn’t open his mouth. As the cold seeped through, and the water became heavier, Steve was determined to give nothing of his pain away. He tasted blood and felt his body alight with pain, and Steve let nothing show on his face. He would not give the King any satisfaction of his last suffering.

Within moments he felt nothing at all, and Steve was frozen solid in the glass case.

 

* * *

 

“You do remember that the last time you looked for someone, it took over twenty years and someone else to do it.”

Tony shot Thor a dark look that did nothing to dim the smile on the big man’s face. “Shut up.”

They had been searching the all morning, asking throughout every village they passed which surrounded the castle. No one had seen or heard of a masked man. Tony hoped the masked man was close. They’d passed several heralds who’d enthusiastically shouted to all about the royal wedding happening tomorrow.

If the wedding was on, Bucky was in the castle.

If Bucky was in the castle, then Tony was sure the masked man _had to be close_.

“You have stopped suffering the effects of your over-indulging now. Do we really need the masked man to make a plan for us?” Thor asked.

“We still need more manpower,” Tony told him. “There’s what, thirty guarding the gate? And however many more inside? There’s too many unknown variables to attempt it, just you and me. The masked man bested my steel and your strength. We need him.”

“And how do you know he will fight with us?”

“He’ll help us get into the castle at least,” Tony said. “He gonna want inside there as much as we do.”

“You think he is nearby.”

“Yes,” Tony nodded. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t quite like my answer.”

“Why?”

“I _just said_ \- Ugh! It’s illogical, and nonsensical, and utterly ridiculous my reason, you won’t believe me. I barely believe me.”

Thor stopped his friend, turning Tony to face him, a serious tilt to his brow. “Tell me.”

Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, snarling the dark curls into tangles, looking everywhere but Thor’s earnest face. He held out against that face for a whole minute, which he thought was quite admirable. “I feel it, alright?” The words burst out from him. “I- I can feel it.”

“The pain in your chest.” Thor grinned at the surprised look that got from Tony. “I have come across stranger happenings in my years. It’s not such a strange thing to find your heart guiding where the rest must follow blindly.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tony insisted. “And stupid.”

“Tell me which way.”

Tony shook his head, drumming his fingers on his chest as he quietly muttered to himself, and Thor patiently waited. The swordsman fidgeted and scowled and heaved a great sigh to the skies above, but eventually, he flung out one arm and pointed.

Thor patted him on the back and started forward the way Tony had pointed, strolling down toward a bubbling stream. He grinned when Tony stomped past, grabbing him by the arm and steering him slightly to one side, to a sparse woodland beyond the edge of the little village.

“This way,” Tony grumbled, one hand still curled over his chest.

Trusting the swordsman to lead them true, Thor kept his eyes peeled on their surroundings, scanning the trees and shrubs for any sign of the masked man. He could see no signs of anyone else as they drew further from the castle, and Thor could sense Tony was probably soon to yell again over the ‘ridiculousness’ of following a feeling, when he spotted a smudge of pale grey among the green.

A small man with round nose-spectacles in pale robes was pushing a handcart up ahead, and both men froze once they spotted something wide and round and metal in the cart.

A shield.

Tony charged ahead, drawing his sword and holding it to the pale man’s chest, the blade steady as he glared the man down. “Where is the masked man?”

The pale man shook his head, pursing his lips.

His eyes gave him away though, flickering down and back, and leading Tony to spot some tracks his handcart had left behind. They disappeared among the leaf-littered ground by a cluster of old trees with wide trunks. “You get to wherever he is through there. Yes?”

Again, the pale man said nothing, trembling where he stood.

Tony huffed, impatient, “Thor, jog his memory.”

Stepping forward, Thor swung a fist down onto the pale man’s head. They both watched as he promptly fell into the handcart, with not even a whimper, completely out cold. Thor offered a sheepish look, eyes wide, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jog him so hard.”

Tony waved off Thor’s apology, sheathing his sword again as he thought.

The masked man was definitely here.

That was his shield in the cart with the pale man, engraved star and everything, and the tugging in Tony’s chest felt nearly like a leash inside his ribs at this point. Tony made his way back to the cart’s tracks, following with more than his eyes now, and ended up stopping in front of a thick old tree. It made no sense. There was nothing here! Nothing but dirt and shrubs and these _damned_ trees.

Biting his lip, Tony slowly circled the trunk, knocking against the bark at odd intervals. Thor followed him around, hovering behind and watching silently when the swordsman paused over a large knot in the tree bark. Tony rapped his knuckles on the knot several times, before covering the gnarl with his hand.

“Please be a secret door. Please be a secret door. _Please be a secret door_ —”

He pushed on the knot, stumbling when it suddenly gave with a _hiss_ , the front of the tree sliding away to reveal a staircase leading down.

Tony beamed, “Yay!”

“Well done!” Thor cried, as they hurried down the stairs.

Their joy was short-lived. When they reached the end of the staircase and entered a dark and cavernous room, dim lights from a few sparse lamps illuminated the unmoving figure left alone in the room.

The pain in his chest that had led him here was suddenly gone, but Tony felt some new different feeling in his chest now, strangling his heart as he gazed down at the masked man, laying perfectly still in the glass case. At first, Tony thought it was only water, and the man had drowned.

But as he set a hesitant hand on the case, Tony realised it wasn’t water below the glass, it was _ice_.

The mask was gone now, the man’s face clear for Tony to see. He took in the long nose, the thick eyelashes resting on high cheekbones. _Handsome_ , Tony thought, stupid to think though, the man was _frozen_. He was blond, something Tony had already guess from the beard, but now he knew the exact shade. And strangely Tony found himself missing the sight of the brilliant blue eyes.

“He looks sad,” Thor uttered quietly, standing on the other side of the case.

“The bastards froze him,” Tony said. “They literally _froze_ him. What the fuck?”

Thor looked across the glass, “What do we do now?”

Tony shook his head, wrenching his hand away from the cold glass, leaving a watery handprint over the masked man's heart. Tony turned to pace around the room. He took in all the wires, the water wheel, the desk laden with papers and pens. He looked at the writings, but it was in code, something Tony wouldn’t be able to decipher anytime soon without a key and some time - and he had neither.

“I wonder if he had loved ones waiting for him,” Thor said, and Tony couldn’t take it.

“He’s not dead,” he said firmly, whipping around to face Thor.

The big man raised an eyebrow, “Nor is he alive.”

“Well then, we just have to fix that,” Tony insisted. “Starks have never taken anything easily, and that includes defeat. And there might be someone I know who can help with this.”

Thor still looked sceptical. “The man is still entombed in ice.”

“Then we just have to get him out of the ice. It wouldn’t be practical carrying him around when he’s frozen like that.”

“Yes, the practicality was what worried me,” Thor deadpanned, but Tony didn’t seem to notice.

“We don’t have the time, or supplies, to melt it all down…” Tony’s eyes dropped to the hammer on Thor’s belt. “But maybe we can smash the ice. Well, _you_ , you can smash the ice.”

Staring at the masked man’s body and then the hammer, Thor gulped, darting nervous looks to Tony. “Are you certain…?”

“It’ll work,” Tony said confidently, scurrying around the case, measuring with his hands. “You’ll have to break the glass first, but that should be easy. Right here. That oughta do it.”

Thor still looked uncertain, but he took his hammer and followed where Tony pointed, giving a gentle tap that shattered the glass, the shards falling to the ground like snow.

Now the man was left in just the solid ice, and Tony could feel the chill clearer now, standing as close as he was. A faint mist rose and rolled over the surface of the ice, and beads of water bubbled and dripped all over as they watched, but it was only a tiny trickle. They’d never get the whole thing melted quickly enough left like this, and who knew how long the man had already been frozen. Or how long before the people who had frozen him returned. Surely the longer they waited, the worse it would be?

_Okay._

“Okay.” Tony hummed, turning his head as he looked up and down the block of ice. Wires and tubes were still stuck up and down the ice block, some attached right to the masked man himself, but they could use that, make the ice crack where it was already weaker. He shuffled over to the largest cluster of wires, just next to the man’s left shoulder. “Here. Take a swing by these tubes, Thor. Don’t hesitate. Just- one good clean hit. You can do it.”

Taking a steadying breath, Thor held the hammer just by the wires as he aimed. Then he raised his arm and swung down hard.

A sharp _PAK_ sounded, and both men watched eagerly. Despite the loud noise, only a tiny spider-web of cracks appeared in the ice around the wires. Tony frowned, it seemed the ice was denser than he’d thought. He didn’t want to risk another hit in the same place and accidentally injure the frozen man beneath.

“Alright, maybe let’s try one more time, buddy.”

Thor raised his hammer to strike again but stopped when a sound like thunder filled the air. For a moment, he glimpsed almost hopefully at his hammer, but they both realised that the deafening sound was coming from the ice.

The small spider-web of cracks splintered white in the clear ice, delving deeper and crackling outward from the wires, up over the masked man’s head and down over his feet, slowly at first and then faster. Just as suddenly as the rumble of breaking ice petered out, a large chunk at one end slid, falling off onto the floor with a wet _thud_.

And there was the tip of a boot - exposed now.

All at once, chunk after chunk fell as the block crumbled, big slabs of ice landing in _splats_ and _splashes_ and crashing on the ground, and more of the masked man was freed.

When his patience burned up Tony dove forward with his bare hands to push off the few remaining lumps of ice, before pressing an ear against the bare chest. Tony’s hair immediately started to soak up the chilly water still on the masked man’s skin, but there was no sound, no beating, not even a flutter, under the firm icy muscle. Disappointment stung like an aching bruise inside of him.

Thor tied the hammer back to his belt, and tentatively placed a hand on Tony’s back, startling the swordsman upright again. Tony put on a bracing smile, brushing back his damp hair, “Wasn’t really expecting to hear anything. C’mon, you think you can lift him?”

“I think so,” Thor said, pulling the masked man up into his arms. It was an awkward carry. The body was stone cold and unbending, it felt more like carrying a tall log than a person. But Thor managed to carry him off the last of the ice, and that was good enough for now.

“Have you got any money?” Tony asked, guiding them up the staircase to the woodland outside.

Thor grunted as he figured out how to manoeuvre up the stairs with the masked man, “A bit.”

“Me too,” Tony nodded. “Let’s hope it’s enough for a miracle.”

 

* * *

 

Rhodes scowled from his guard post. Nearly everyone had been pulled from their duties in the castle to help man the gate and perimeter instead until the wedding. Only the King’s guard and a few others were still inside the castle. And Rhodes, because Chief Enforcer Hammer held some unspoken grudge against him, had been relegated to the other side of the castle from the gate.

He wasn’t complaining entirely. Being out of the ‘prime’ guarding spot also meant being out from under Hammer’s direct supervision, and it was always a bonus not having that man breathing down the back of your neck for a whole shift. However, it also meant that the job you got was usually humiliating or mind-numbingly _boring_.

Afternoons following the Queen around on her appointments could be boring too though, because the company she kept were all the same type of kiss-ass nobles, with the same simpering tones, and the same sickening laughter, so Rhodes was used to boring shifts.

The back of the castle opened out onto a few sparse gardens that supplied the castle with some of the hardier herbs, and then the land dropped steeply into a deep ditch, beyond which was a cattle farm and its very territorial bull. Attacking the castle from this vantage point was a strategic nightmare, that was _the whole reason_ this was designed to be the back of the castle. It hardly needed guarding, the land did most of the work in being as unhelpful as possible to attackers.

No, Hammer had sent Rhodes here for his own amusement, because he knew that Rhodes would have to stand for hours smelling the cow manure that wafted up from the farm.

Rhodes scrunched his nose again as another powerful wave of that stench hit him.

Unlike before though, the smell seemed to linger.

Eyes almost glazing over with boredom, Rhodes blinked when he noticed something new in his surroundings, the apparent source of the lingering pong. There, just visible behind one of the rosemary bushes, was a person. They were crouched, huddled under a dirty cloak, and instead of shuffling away when they noticed Rhodes’ attention, they were coming _towards_ him.

Immediately suspicious, Rhodes drew his sword and moved cautiously forward. One person couldn’t mount an attack on the castle, but they might not be alone, they might be a distraction for a larger assault.

It was a man, Rhodes could tell from the body shape even though the tattered hood stayed up, and the awkward shuffle he was making across the ground seemed to be because of his leg. Rhodes could see the man was keeping one leg carefully stretched out, nearly all his weight on the other, and he raised open hands as Rhodes approached.

No visible weapons didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous though. Rhodes kept his sword drawn, and a careful distance between them. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The man said nothing, but his hands started cutting through the air in a quick series of gestures that Rhodes didn’t understand, though he did point repeatedly at the injured leg and then clasping his hands pleadingly.

It all stopped at the clinking sound of armour behind Rhodes, one of the other guards in the area calling out to him, “Rhodes? Everything alright?”

The injured man seemed to shrink behind the rosemary at the voice, and Rhodes frowned. “Did another guard hurt you?” he whispered, anger burning through him at the hesitant nod he got for an answer. With a nod himself, Rhodes looked over his shoulder at the approaching guard, “All clear, Allen. Just an injured gardener. I’m gonna help ‘em get home.”

Allen waved him off, returning to his post, bored look already plastered back on his face.

Rhodes stared down at the injured man another minute, before sheathing his sword. “Man, I hope this isn’t a mistake,” he sighed to himself, before wrapping an arm around the man’s waist and helping him hop across the gardens, as quick as they could before anyone realised the man wasn’t in a gardener’s uniform.

The injured man was tensed all the way until Rhodes guided them off castle grounds, heading down to the castle village below. They were hardly out of the shadow of the castle when the man blew out a huge sigh and turned to Rhodes, only his bruised chin visible under the hood.

“Hail, Hydra,” the man whispered, and Rhodes nearly dropped him.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?!”

“Oh, thank god,” the man said louder. “I knew you were a good guy, but I still had to check.”

“ _Barton?!_ ” Rhodes blurted out at the familiar voice. “What the hell happened to you? And why do you smell like shit?”

“I was making an escape and the stable’s dung heap was my best landing site,” Clint shrugged. “I’m lucky I only twisted my leg a little. But it’s made it hell when I’ve tried to get back inside.”

“Escape?” Rhodes skidded to a stop, throwing suspicious looks at the other man.

“The King’s with Hydra!” Clint said, hood falling back to show a still bleeding cut across his nose. “He’s crazy, Rhodes!”

Rhodes nearly dropped him again, “Hydra? The King?!”

“Yeah!” Clint cried, waving one dirty hand in the air. “The King all but announced he was planning for war and that he was probably gonna get rid of the Princess and Barnes after the wedding. He’s ordered them both locked up and under guard. Oh, and he kind of admitted that Natasha wasn’t his daughter.”

“So now you believe me,” Rhodes rolled his eyes.

“Do you believe me?”

“I must be crazy… but, yes,” Rhodes sighed. “There was always something about him that I just never trusted.”

Clint nodded. “We don’t know how many people in there are also Hydra. His guards for sure.”

“They do this to you?”

“Some of it,” Clint said. “Like I said before, I also had to jump into a literal pile of steaming shit.”

“The Princess is in danger.”

“Barnes and the Queen too, probably. Unless you tell me you think the Queen’s been planning Hydra parties during her afternoon teas.”

“No,” Rhodes shook his head. “The Queen isn’t Hydra. I’m certain of it. Count Stane, on the other hand…”

“We have to get them out of the castle,” Clint insisted.

“We will,” Rhodes said. “But first we need to get you looked at.”

“Rhodes, we don’t know who we can trust! Anyone could be Hydra.”

“We can trust this person,” he insisted, hurrying them down to the castle village. They passed quickly down the main road, heading toward the edge of the village where there were rows of small thatched houses, most of the people out working at this time.

They stopped in front of one house, no different from any other, except that Rhodes was knocking on the front door. It swung open, and Clint’s eyes took in the dark skin and silver-streaked hair, the round face with a wide nose, and familiar eyes edged with laugh lines.

Rhodes smiled, “Hey, Ma.”

The older woman huffed. “James, what did you do now?”

 

* * *

 

They probably looked ridiculous, but there was no getting around that. Tony just carried on, leading the way with Thor behind, pushing the handcart they’d borrowed to help carry the masked man. His missing shirt had been found with his shield, but with the man’s arms still frozen stiff it had been impossible to put on him. Tony’d had no choice but to leave him shirtless. No choice.

He’d tucked the cloak from Stane’s lackey over the masked man, and though it probably didn’t help much, it made Tony feel like he was doing something about the man’s cold state.

Dusk was setting in by the time they reached their destination. The handcart hadn’t been made for navigating the rougher terrain they’d gone through. Though they were out of sight from any other villages, and a short distance away the high flags over the castle could still be seen, its red eagle symbol fluttering in the air.

In front of a run-down hovel of a house, Tony knocked on the wooden door.

“Go away!” someone shouted from inside.

Tony pounded a fist on the door again, louder this time.

A small window in the door slid open, and a pair of bright blue eyes peered out at them from behind thick-framed spectacles. “What?” the woman hissed. “What do you want?”

“Are you the Miracle Max that worked for the King all those years?” Tony asked.

“No,” the woman answered shortly. “Grandpa left on holiday years ago. Goodbye!”

The little window slid shut.

Banging his fist on the door again, Tony tried to hold back his panic. The window slammed open again, those eyes narrow and glaring up at him now. “It’s supposed to be quiet time right now! You’re gonna disrupt it with all this banging about! Do you know how long it’ll take me to settle them settled down again?”

“Please,” Tony said quickly. “We need a miracle. It’s very important.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but Grandpa didn’t teach me everything before he left. I might accidentally kill whoever you wanted me to miracle.”

“He’s already dead,” Tony offered.

One long eyebrow rose over the glasses frames, “Dead, is he? Hmm… You got any money?”

“Yes.”

“Bring him in then, I’ll take a look.”

The window shut again, but they could hear the clicks of a lock being undone, and the door swung open to a young woman, her dark curls spilling out from under a knitted red hat.

The room they walked into was probably bigger than it looked, but it was absolutely crammed with _stuff_. There were vials and small pots littered over half the surfaces, buckets of what seemed to be glass, herbs and flowers hanging to dry near the fireplace, and a closet in one corner so stuffed with fabrics that the doors wouldn’t close fully. But it was the walls that were the most interesting part of the whole place. Every available square inch of the wall had been papered over with all sorts of notes, some just scribbles in an illegible scrawl, others were meticulously detailed illustrations and calculations.

“I’m Darcy,” the woman said introducing herself, before pointing to the table at the centre of the room. “Put the dead guy there.”

Thor did as she asked, and Tony watched her prod at the masked man’s cheek and try to lift one of his arms. It bent no more than it had earlier, still stiff from the cold.

“Wow, he’s really stone cold dead.”

“He was frozen,” Tony explained.

Darcy nodded, hands on her hips. “This needs a second opinion. Wait here.”

“We’re kind of in a hurry!” Tony said, but she ignored him and disappeared through a door at the back of the room. He sighed, reaching out to pat the masked man on the hand, “I’m trying, I’m really trying here, you just hang in there.”

If he didn’t move his hand after, then Tony wasn’t going to think about that too much.

Meanwhile, Thor had been drawn to a line of sketches down one wall, a dazed expression growing on his face. Tony started to worry when he noticed a wet sheen to his eyes, “Thor?”

“These stars…” Thor breathed.

Taking another look at the drawings that so fascinated Thor, they did vaguely look like constellations to Tony. But none that Tony had ever seen. The patterns that had been marked in with quick dashes of graphite were in shapes that Tony had never seen in the night sky.

Thor followed the sketches to the back, stopping suddenly, before reaching out with a trembling hand to trace one of the sheets of paper. “Oh…” he warbled, fingers rubbing smudges into the paper as he stared and stared with a desperate sort of longing in his face.

“You’re worrying me, buddy,” Tony said, still standing by the table with the masked man.

“I know these stars,” Thor said softly, leaning closer to gaze at the paper. “I have not seen them in so long—”

The back door suddenly flung open with a _BANG_ , knocking into Thor’s back and smacking him face first against the wall with an audible _crunch_.

Tony gaped at the tiny woman that stood in the doorway swathed in a grey scarf, the one who had slammed open the door. But she wasn’t paying attention, glaring fiercely over her shoulder as she shouted, “If Bruce can get out of quiet time, then so can I!”

Thor gave a pained groan from where he’d fallen behind the door.

The tiny woman turned with a gasp, looking horrified when she spotted the blood that was trickling from Thor’s nose. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked, crouching down and panicking over Thor’s nose. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Darcy stood in the doorway, rolling her eyes, “ _Jane…_ ”

“Shut up! I didn’t mean to,” Jane snapped, turning back to Thor with big doe eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Tony wasn’t too worried. It wasn’t even crooked. A banged up nose was one of the smaller injuries he’d seen Thor suffer, and besides, the big man was too busy staring at the tiny woman in front of him to care. He didn’t make a sound while Jane fluttered her hands anxiously, eventually deciding to just pinch his nose for him when Thor still did nothing to stop the bleeding.

“This is why you should have stayed in quiet time,” Darcy said, immune to the dark look it got her from Jane.

She joined Tony at the table again, a man just behind her who was nervously fiddling with the monocle that dangled from a chain to his pocket. He looked older than the two women, nearer to Tony’s own age maybe, grey starting early in creeping across the dark curls on his head. He wore a patched-up woollen robe and seemed to be avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room.

Darcy gave him a small push closer to the table, “This is Bruce.”

Bruce sighed, flipping the monocle over in his hand, “This really isn’t my area. I’m more of an alchemist than a miracle-worker.”

“He’s being modest,” Darcy insisted. “He’s learned nearly everything there is to know about the human body. I’m sure he can help.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Tony said honestly.

“You got the money?” Darcy asked. Tony tossed her the small coin purse, everything he and Thor had on them, and watched her weigh it in one hand. “Eh, it’ll do. Now let’s have a look at Mister Dead Guy here.”

 

* * *

 

####  **The Noble Cause**

Clint sat on the bed against the headboard, smelling of strong peppermint soap now and dressed in clean clothes, his injured leg elevated on a stack of pillows. With a thick blanket tucked around his shoulders, and a warm bowl of soup in his hands, he was feeling quite well-mothered at the moment. He couldn’t remember feeling like this in some time.

Rhodes sat on a stool next to him, slurping down his own soup, but mostly he was avoiding his mother’s eyes as she fluffed another pillow for the cot she was setting up for her son. Mrs Rhodes wasn’t even looking at him and the expression on her face still made Clint want to squirm in his seat. That might not even be possible though with how thoroughly she’d tucked him in. Clint was half-mortified and half-delighted at the treatment, to be honest.

“Now, you boys finish your dinner and get some sleep. James knows where the spare blankets are if you need more,” Mrs Rhodes said, no room for arguing in her voice.

Clint felt no option but to quietly nod his head, but Rhodes set his shoulders and put down his soup bowl. “Ma, I told you, we really can’t just—”

“Your friend needs to rest his leg,” she said. “It’ll be better by morning, and then we can discuss some more about this breaking into the castle you were hollering about.”

“But Hydra—”

“Hydra can wait the night. Didn’t you say that the King was waiting until the wedding to do something?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rhodes nodded. “But the Queen—”

“Maria will be fine. She’s always been stronger than everyone thinks.”

“The Princess—”

“Now come give your mother a kiss goodnight, James.”

“ _Ma!_ ”

“ _Kiss_.”

Mrs Rhodes tapped a finger on her cheek, eyes not even open as she waited for Rhodes to do as she’d asked. And she knew he would. Clint bit back a laugh, afraid she might turn on him next. Rhodes grumbled but got to his feet, ducking down to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Good. You boys should have an early night, you look exhausted. I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning. Goodnight, James. Goodnight, Mr Barton.”

“G’night, Mrs Rhodes,” Clint choked out.

She shut the door behind her and Rhodes fell back onto his cot with a groan.

Clint wheezed, “Oh my god.”

“Not a word.”

“She’s amazing.”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Sixty-five, sheesh, it’s been a while since I worked for so little,” Darcy said, counting out the coins as Bruce looked over the masked man. “And that was for a noble cause.”

“This is a noble cause,” Tony said quickly, pulling his face into a sad expression. “His wife is crippled, his children ill, they will all starve without him.”

Darcy stared at him for a minute, before chuckling, “Nice try. And now the truth?”

Tony slumped, “I need his help to avenge my murdered family.”

“Where are the bellows?” Bruce asked.

“The first story was better,” Darcy decided, stepping around the table to retrieve a set of huge bellows from next to the fireplace. “We’ll just ask him the truth.”

“Him?” Tony blinked. “He’s dead. He can’t talk.”

Darcy scoffed, but it was Bruce that explained. “Actually, I believe he’s only _mostly_ dead. There’s a surprising degree to how dead you can be, and a big difference between mostly and all dead.”

“Open his mouth,” Darcy said, as she held up the bellows.

Tony gently pulled down the masked man’s bearded jaw, holding the man’s head steady with his other hand. Bruce helped Darcy tuck the bellows into the masked man’s mouth, and Darcy started to pump. The masked man’s chest started to rise very slowly.

“Mostly dead is still slightly alive,” Bruce said. “If he was all dead, well, there’s only one thing you can usually do then.”

“Go through their pockets for change!” Darcy giggled at their appalled expressions. “What? It’s something Grandpa always used to say.”

With the man still part-frozen, Darcy and Bruce were pumping the bellows for longer to get his chest fully inflated again. Behind them, Thor’s nose had stopped it’s bleeding, but he was still staring at Jane and making her face flush a pale pink.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Thor waved away the apology, “Are you the one who drew those stars?”

Jane stared at him now, before looking up at the papers on the wall, one still with a smudge of blood from Thor’s nose. “Oh! Yes. I’m an astronomer you see. Among other things.”

“You have seen those stars then?”

“Bruce helped me build a really good telescope. I spend nearly all the time I can just looking at them. Though, some of the positions I’ve noted had to be extrapolated from other data I’ve collected. It’s been like one giant jigsaw puzzle.”

Thor shot to his feet, tapping at the page with his bloodstain. “And this one- these- was it you? Or your data? You've seen these?”

“I’ve seen those with my own eyes, yes,” Jane said, standing to join Thor by the sketch. “They only appear during the Winter Solstice. Aren’t they spectacular?” She tilted her head as she took in the winded expression on Thor’s face. “Are you… are you alright?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, pulling the bellows out of the masked man’s mouth. “Let’s ask him now.”

Tony was still sceptical but didn’t stop her knocking lightly on the masked man’s forehead, though he kept a hand on the man’s head.

Darcy leaned over him, “Hey! Hello in there! What’s so important that’s got you hanging on?”

She nodded to Bruce, and he slowly pressed down on the masked man’s chest.

It was barely a whisper, little more than a wheeze, but slowly words were pushed out of the masked man’s lips. “Tr… _oooo_ … Lo… _vvve_ …”

All at once, everything clicked in Tony’s head. _True Love_. He’d heard that word bandied about more in the past fortnight than he had in years. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The chances were too small. He somehow knew immediately who the masked man must be talking about.

 _Bucky_.

Though the man had said he’d lost his True Love, Tony knew in his heart, that same True Love was now miraculously lying on the table in front of him, albeit mostly dead. The masked man had pursued Bucky through his kidnapping with a dogged determination, one that must have come from a place of love. No wonder they’d found him frozen - the King definitely wouldn’t want Bucky’s True Love interrupting the wedding he had planned.

Something like envy curled up tight in his throat, only Tony wasn’t sure who the emotion was over.

It didn’t matter, though, did it? The masked man and Bucky, they deserved each other. They had eachother already. Getting jealous over their happiness was just petty. _Yeah_ , Tony was probably just jealous because he wanted a happiness like theirs of his own. That made sense.

“True Love,” he said, looking to Darcy and Bruce. “You couldn’t ask for a more noble cause. Will you help to revive him somehow?”

Darcy nodded slowly, “True Love _is_ the greatest thing in the world.”

Bruce, however, had shrunk back, ducking his head and flipping his monocle. He hummed noncommittally, turning to fiddle with some vials on the wooden bench behind him. Darcy noticed, sticking hands on her hips again as she went after him, her curls waving wildly as she started a bizarre chase around Tony and the table.

“Don’t you give me that look, Bruce Banner,” Darcy chided the man, scurrying after Bruce. “ _True Love_ , he said! We have to do something!”

“You know my results don’t always…”

“Don’t make me put you back in quiet time.”

Bruce’s shoulder jerked in a shrug, attempting nonchalance. “I like quiet time.”

“You won’t this time,” Darcy promised him, a dangerous edge to her words. “I guarantee it.”

It had Bruce stuttering. “You’re not supposed to try and upset me on purpose.”

Darcy tsked at him, scowling fiercely before turning back to Tony, who was still standing with a hand on the masked man’s head. “He’s just afraid. Ever since a little incident with the King’s last Chief Enforcer got him fired, his temper’s been so snippy. His confidence has been shattered…”

“It was more than a little _incident_ ,” Bruce snapped.

Curious now, Tony couldn’t help asking what happened.

“The last Chief Enforcer, a mean old guy called Ross, commissioned Bruce to make a formula for him. There was an accident, small spillage because _somebody_ didn’t use to keep the safest work space—”

Bruce groaned, “Will you ever let that go?”

“—never, and now whenever Bruce gets really angry, he turns into a giant green rage monster,” Darcy finished, a big grin on her face. “It’s pretty amazing. He gets even more muscles than Blondie over there, but he turns into a giant softie if you sing for him. I call him Hulk.”

Tony’s eyebrows had steadily risen through the story. Bruce shot a pained look up at the rafters with his cheeks burning, while Darcy just seemed utterly pleased by her delivery. Tony tried to imagine the man as large and green, and something in him wanted very much to see it for himself.

“The King fired him after Hulk sorta squished his Chief Enforcer.”

 _Squished_. Tony hadn’t ever heard that word used in such a context before, but it painted a very clear picture. “Well, this man is Bucky’s True Love,” Tony said. “If you heal him, he’ll stop the wedding the King’s been planning.”

Darcy was focused intensely on Tony once again, watching his face carefully, “Wait. Are you saying that if we fix Mostly Dead But Still Pretty, it’ll piss off the King?”

“Yes.”

“Now, _that_ is a noble cause!” She turned back to Bruce, a manic gleam in Darcy’s eyes that had Bruce shuffling back from her. “C’mon Bruce, don’t you take this from me. That asshole shut down the academy we went to _three weeks_ before I could finish my mastership - I need this payback!”

Bruce wavered, dark eyes darting between the shark grin on Darcy’s face and the hopeful tilt that was on Tony’s. He sighed eventually, and Darcy was already pumping her fists in the air and dancing around the table to leap on him in a hug.

“ _Thank you_ , thank you, thank you!”

“I’ll give it a go, but I'm not promising anything,” Bruce said. “Miracle-working isn’t really my speciality, I’m not like your grandfather, but I might be able to come up with something…”

Tony joined the hug now too, swooping in and wrapping his arms around Darcy and Bruce both, making Darcy giggle. “Something’s better than nothing!”

“We need to let your friend thaw first. Whatever I make won’t work if his veins are frozen solid and nothing can get where it needs to go.”

Between the three of them, they managed to lay the masked man out in front of the fireplace. Jane dug out some blankets to throw over him, and Thor brought in the handcart with the rest of their things. Now Tony just had to wait. He got himself comfy sitting by the masked man, a hand reaching for one of his wrists, and watched Darcy light a few candles for Bruce as he set to work on his ‘something’ at the counter with all his vials.

 

* * *

 

“You can see my problem then with proving my research when you can’t always see what I'm trying to explain,” Jane sighed, flicking through a notebook she’d pulled out with more sketches when Thor had asked more about her work.

He was still most interested in the cluster of stars that only popped up on the Winter Solstice, but he paid attention to all her drawings as she’d babbled on about them.

“No one wants to fund my ‘silly’ research,” Jane said gloomily. Her life’s work was in this room and nobody wanted to listen. They didn’t care. If only she had a scrap of evidence to back her theories, some sort of proof that what she saw existed, and wasn’t just Jane becoming crazy. “Darcy’s had me pretend I’m actually an astrologer to get enough money for us to get by. I’m terrible at it. No one seems to know the difference in what I do anyway. I should probably just give up and find something more useful to do.”

“No, Jane,” Thor shook his head. “You must not give up. Finish what you’ve started.”

“But _I_ don’t even understand what I’ve started.”

“Here, look—”

Thor took the notebook from her and flipped to the pages where she’d drawn out all the star clusters that frequently disappeared, picking up the stick of graphite Jane had left inside. She watched Thor turn the book on its side and start to draw around the star clusters, grouping them in some pattern only he seemed to see.

She slid closer, watching Thor work in front of the fire. “What is it?”

“It’s something my father explained to me as a child,” Thor said, pointing at the lines he’d added to the pages. “These are known as the Nine Realms of the Cosmos. They are all connected to each other by the branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The stars you only rarely see? They are glimmers into the other worlds, Jane.”

“That sounds… like nothing I’ve heard before,” Jane admitted. “It sounds like a story.”

“It is a very old story, then,” Thor said, smiling gently at her.

“If they’re all connected by this tree, then which world on there is ours?”

“Your world is here,” Thor happily pointed to a cluster on one of the lower branches of the tree. “It is known as Midgard.”

“ _My_ world?” Jane gaped at the blond man next to her. “You’re from- where are you from? How did you get here?”

“There is a bridge of sorts.”

“Is that how you get back?”

She’d said something wrong, Jane realised almost immediately, as she watched the happy expression on Thor’s face crumble. He turned toward the small candle they were sharing, the flickering flame whipping dark trails across the broad lines on his face. Jane couldn’t undo the hurt her words had unintentionally caused, but she could move the conversation on to less painful topics. She had some idea now of what to avoid.

“If we’re on Midgard now, what are the other worlds called?”

Thor met her eyes again, the blue bright and enchanting even in the shadows. They almost seemed to shine with their own light. The corner of his mouth curled up, and Jane couldn’t help grinning too as a smile returned to Thor’s face. She ducked her head closer and listened to Thor tell all the stories he remembered of these other worlds.

Tony smiled a little watching them from where he sat by the fire. The big giant was hunched over as he talked with the petite lady at his side, in a bubble of their own in one corner of the room, their attention extending only as far as the light from the candle between them.

Bruce had been working all the while, hardly noticing as Darcy lit more candles around him as full darkness outside set in. Tony understood that sort of tunnelled focus. It was fascinating to watch it from the outside; Bruce often looked motionless with thought, but the truth was the exact opposite. He was never entirely still, whether it was fiddling with his monocle, twisting a dark curl around his fingers, or mouthing words he never gave voice, Bruce was actually a man in constant motion when he was thinking.

Tony hadn’t strayed far from where he’d first sat by the fireplace, moving only as far as the table but still sitting on the floor. Tony hadn’t taken his hand from the masked man’s either, even when it felt really strange to feel nothing but cold still skin under his fingertips. He had to keep remembering that the masked man was still _mostly_ dead, however that worked.

He should probably stop calling him ‘the masked man’ too, what with no mask to be found with his other belongings in the handcart. It seemed strange to Tony that he didn’t know the man’s name. He felt so familiar, and having such a simple thing unknown to him was jarring. Tony could always go back to calling him ‘Handsome’, as he’d called the man a few times. It was better than no name.

“Here,” Darcy announced, holding a steaming cup under Tony’s nose.

He took the cup before Darcy could spill hot liquid over delicate places and settled back against the table leg he was leaning against. There was no real comfy way to sit there, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to move further away. Some weird sense of duty, maybe, told him to keep watch over Handsome until he woke.

“You’re thinking awfully hard at this time of night,” Darcy noted, blowing on her own steaming cup to cool it down. “Or is it morning?”

“Beats me,” Tony said, yawning now, like a reminder of time had jolted his body into tiredness.

“Hmm… so! Avenging your family.”

Tony felt his chest seize up at the reminder. “Yeah.”

“Sounds rough,” Darcy said. “Worse than my stupid mastership.”

“It isn’t stupid if it’s important to you.”

Darcy grinned, “Thanks. But it’s definitely a less noble cause than yours.” He had to give her that. “Was it the King that pissed you off too?”

“No. It’s someone who works for him. Count Stane.”

“I think I recognise the name,” Darcy said, taking a sip from her cup. Tony still hadn’t touched his drink. “Bald? Thick beard? Creepy aura?”

Tony could only shrug, pointing over at the black cloak just visible under all the blankets on Handsome. “I only really remembered his coat of arms, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“He came round to Culver Academy a few times scouting for geniuses,” Darcy said. “He makes weapons, I think.”

 _Weapons_ , of course, “That sounds like it might be him then.” Bald, bearded and creepy, Tony would have to be on the lookout for someone fitting that description. It was definitely useful having more information.

“I hope you get him,” Darcy said suddenly. “And Pretty Boy here gets his True Love. And that we really piss off the King. I hope we all get our happy endings.”

It was a strange thought, for Tony to realise that in a handful of days he might satisfy the vengeance he’d been hunting for two decades. What would happen after? He’d never given much thought to the after. But Tony didn’t exactly want his revenge to be his happy ending. More like a happy beginning, onto a kinder time in his life, if he could be so lucky.

 _Happy endings_ , what a strange thought.

 

* * *

 

Natasha hadn’t slept at all. She’d been sat up in her bed all night. The guards had removed a lot of the furniture from her rooms before they’d locked her inside. All she had left was the heavy dresser and the bed, and they’d made sure to search through both before leaving them too. Apparently, they were certain that they’d find weapons of all sizes hiding all over her room, and the King didn’t want to give Natasha the chance of escaping in any way.

Her mind was spinning with doubt, something that didn’t often happen. When Natasha did something, it was usually with confidence, or at least with some measure of certainty to her actions.

Hydra was casting new shadows all over her past now.

Everything she’d ever done, the fights she’d been part of, the fights she’d _started_ , the lives she’d ended - it had all been done in the name of her country, for Florin and its people. Natasha didn’t relish death though she’d learned to become good at delivering it. It had felt like a necessary evil, a stain she took on her conscience so others would not.

Now it just felt like it had all been evil.

_Did that make Natasha evil too?_

She could almost take comfort in the fact that the King had confirmed she wasn’t his by blood, but that left Natasha reeling with despair about whether she could’ve been born good and had simply _become_ evil despite her beginnings.

No.

Natasha wouldn’t let him shake her like this.

She had been raised with more poise than to let any enemy see how deeply they’d gotten to her. It should make no difference now that enemy was the King she’d served all her life. It wouldn’t.

The door to her room swung open and the King walked in flanked by a pair of guards. It nearly made Natasha smile to realise she was still apparently seen as such a threat. “Good morning, my dear,” the King said, a smile on his face like he didn’t know Natasha was thinking of wringing his neck. “You don’t seem excited.”

“Should I be?”

“Brides often are, I’m told.”

Natasha met his eyes, “I will not marry tonight.”

At last, a small crack appeared in that smile of his. “If you think Barnes’ love will stop any of this, you’re sadly mistaken. Tonight the sun will set on your wedding night, and when it rises tomorrow it will be the dawning of a new era, a time for Hydra to step out of the shadows and into the light.”

“I will not marry,” Natasha said again.

“Such a shame then,” the King hummed. “I’m sure that your mother will be quite upset when I tell her, she’s been so looking forward to the wedding. I’ll have to get her some more tea to settle again.” He was smiling brightly. “It’s a new blend. The potency can be a tricky thing to manage, however, too much and well… accidents are known happen.

Natasha squared her jaw and bit her cheek, tasting blood and imagining it was the King’s.

“Yes, your betrothed certainly seemed concerned about that, too.”

Holding down every muscle took all of Natasha’s strength, just so she didn’t leap at the monster in front of her and snap his neck. Her mother. He dared to threaten _her mother_.

The King took her silence as some sort of agreement, and Natasha didn’t say anything to dissuade him. Let him have his little delusion. When she found the chance to strike, she would take it. Clint was out there. Barnes and Rhodes, too. She wasn’t alone in this fight.

And somewhere out there, perhaps there was also another Stark not too far away.

Natasha was the farthest thing from alone. The King wouldn’t know what hit him.

 

* * *

 

“It’s not a pill,” Bruce mumbled, holding up the dark muddy liquid in a small vial. “I’m not quite as good as Miracle Max.”

“Did you remember the chocolate?” Darcy asked, squinting at the vial, flicking the glass with her finger. “Grandpa says chocolate always helps it go down easier.”

“I remembered. That’s why it’s… quite unfortunate to look at.”

It looked like sewage water from a privy.

He handed the vial to Tony and the swordsman slipped it into a pocket. Thor was already lifting Handsome up into his arms, so Tony would carry the other man’s sword and shield, and they’d leave the handcart since there wasn't much left in it. Darcy had been only too happy to help Tony put the shirt back on Handsome early that morning when he’d defrosted enough to move his limbs, their hands running over rounded muscles that were soft once again.

There was still a large tear on one shoulder of the shirt, but he looked more put together now. Closer to how Tony remembered him from their duel.

Bruce looked nervously at Tony, “I have to let you know, it’s slow-acting, so if you don’t see anything much happen right away, that’s only a good thing.”

“But what if we need to fight?” Tony frowned.

“Then you’ll have to fight for him.” Bruce twisted his hands, “It’s the best I could do.”

Darcy chimed in with a cheery grin, “I’ll tell you what, if anything goes wrong, it’ll happen pretty instantly. That’s how Bruce’s experiments always go wrong - with a sudden _boom!_ There’s no mistaking a mistake with him.”

“Well that’s, yeah, no, that’s not reassuring,” Tony said, feeling less confident by the second.

Bruce seemed to notice. “It should work.”

Tony nodded, “Alright then, we’d better head off.”

“Thank you for everything,” Thor said, smiling as he slung one of Handsome’s arms around his shoulders and lifted Handsome’s legs. Thawed as he was now, Handsome looked like he’d merely passed out, cradled in Thor’s arms.

He still wasn’t breathing though.

Tony tried not to worry too much about that, and lead them out of the small house, heading straight for the castle. Darcy waved enthusiastically from the door, shouting her goodbyes, “Have fun storming the castle!”

“You think it’ll work?” Jane asked Bruce.

He shrugged, “It would take a miracle.”

It took a while to reach the small village by the castle with carrying Handsome and all of his belongings between them. The shield was heavier than it looked.

They slipped up onto the walkway of the village wall just in front of the castle gate. It was little more than a well-built wooden fence, nothing so sturdy as the stone the castle was built from, but it gave them a good vantage point to plan their attack. No one paid them much attention, the villagers already in a full celebration buzz before the royal wedding, drinking and dancing in the streets. Handsome blended in quite nicely with some of the already drunk villagers.

Tony leaned Handsome against the wall, trying to prop him up into a sitting position while Thor peeked over the wall to count the guards. His face was pale when he looked back at Tony, “There are more than thirty guards, Stark. At least a hundred.”

Nothing was going to faze Tony now that he was so close to his revenge. “What does it matter? We have him now,” Tony pointed at Handsome. “Hold his head for me, will you? I’ll get the vial.”

Thor held up the man while Tony dug out the vial.

“Tilt back his head and open his mouth.”

Using one large hand, Thor tilted Handsome’s head back and pulled open his jaw. Tony carefully tipped the murky contents of the vial in his mouth, then sat back on his heels.

“And now we wait.”

“How long do you think it will take the miracle to work?” Thor asked.

“Bruce didn’t specify—”

Handsome’s eyelids flew open, pupils shrunk and brilliant blue irises darting frantically around, as his eyes rolled about in his head. “I’ll beat you both apart!” Handsome shouted out. “I can take you—!”

Thor slapped a hand over Handsome’s mouth. “I guess not very long then.”

“Bruce said it was supposed to be slow-acting,” Tony couldn’t help worry. What if something had gone wrong?

But when Thor removed his hand, Handsome didn’t immediately leap to his feet and beat them up like he’d said. He didn’t even move his head. “Why won’t my arms move?” he demanded, shooting suspicious looks at them both.

Apparently, only his eyes and mouth were working yet. Tony relaxed a little while Thor explained to Handsome that he’d been mostly dead for a while, and it’d take some more time to fully revive and regain use of his limbs. He was the only one that seemed unfazed about the whole thing.

“Who are you?” Handsome asked, before narrowing his eyes at Tony, his brow furrowed low. “Do I know you? Why are we here? And where’s Bucky?”

“We met a few days ago,” Tony said quickly, trying to slow all of the questions. “Remember?”

Blue eyes dragged across Tony’s face, taking in the creases by his eyes, the trimmed beard and moustache, the small upturn to his nose, and something seemed to spark in him. “… Stark?”

Tony grinned. “You can call me Tony. And what do I call you, handsome?”

“Steve,” he replied, rolling his eyes over to Thor on his other side. “I never got your name.”

“I am Thor,” the big man answered him.

“Nice to meet you. Now, where’s Bucky?”

“Let me explain…” Tony trailed off though as the enormity of what they had planned piled up in his head. Where would he even begin? “No, there’s too much. Let me sum up: Bucky is set to marry the Princess at sunset unless we stop it. All we have to do to is get in, break up the wedding, steal your True Love, and make our escape - after I kill Count Stane.”

“Right.” Steve’s eyes widened as the words poured out, and offered a nonplussed, “No time to dawdle then.”


	6. The Incredible Plan and The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not all monsters we meet are gigantic and green...

####  **The Incredible Plan**

“Here is where you come in - we need a plan to storm the castle,” Tony said.

Steve frowned in thought. A finger twitched where his hand was lying limp on his lap.

Thor beamed, “You finger just moved. That’s wonderful!”

“I’m a very fast healer,” Steve said, before turning back to Tony. “Alright, what are our liabilities?”

“There’s only one working castle gate, and it’s being guarded by over a hundred men.”

Thor raised Steve a little, just enough for his head to tip back so he could awkwardly peer over the village wall at the gate Tony had told him about. More than a hundred guards milled about in the space, some of them in organised patrols along the perimeter, others just standing around looking bored. There weren’t any obvious signs of any other defensive weapons close by.

“And what of our assets?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged, “We have you, Thor’s strength, and my steel.”

“That’s it? Impossible.” Steve blinked, stunned, and shook his head from side to side, “Maybe if I had a month and a dozen more men I could plan something. But with just us…”

“You just shook your head. Isn’t that good?” Thor cheered.

“Well, we also have a Hulk,” Tony offered. “Sort of.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“He’s a normal-looking man who can turn into an apparently giant green rage monster with the ability to squish people,” Tony said.

Steve seemed to take it in stride, “That could prove a good distraction. But he’d still need a disguise to get close enough to the gate.”

Thor pulled out the black cloak with Stane’s crest on it, holding it up, “Will this do?”

Steve started to have a more considering look on his face, mind ticking as he ran over what they had to work with. He had only started to nod when Tony hissed, eyes fixed on something further down along the walkway. “Shit! Guards!”

Thor quickly scooped Steve up into his arms while Tony grabbed the rest of their things, and they hurried down the village wall, just in time, as two guards wandered overhead to stand where they had been only moments ago.

“That was close,” Thor sighed.

Tony nodded, jerking his chin to an alleyway not far off where they slipped in to hide among the shadows there. “Okay, Thor, go back and get Bruce. Ask Darcy to help if you have to,” Tony said, before grimacing when he sat in something damp on the ground. “It’ll be quicker if it’s just you. Steve and I can wait here.”

Thor didn’t argue, carefully lowering Steve into Tony’s open arms. The blond man slumped, still unable to move, as his head was propped against Tony’s shoulder and the swordsman wrapped an arm around his waist. With Steve’s shield and sword mostly hidden under the black cloak, if anyone spotted them they just looked like two ordinary villagers that had fallen down drunk from early wedding celebrations.

Throwing them a quick salute, Thor slipped away, heading back to Miracle Max’s home and taking fun in singing along with any villagers that crossed his path.

 

* * *

 

“See? It was just a couple of villagers who’ve dipped into the ale already,” Clint chuckled, nudging Rhodes in the side with an elbow. “One of ‘em can’t even stay on his feet.”

Rhodes hummed unconvinced, but he’d already been unhappy about coming out here in the first place.

The village wall would give them a good look at those guarding the castle gate, but they weren’t exactly incognito dressed in Rhodes’ spare guard uniforms. Especially since Rhodes had technically abandoned his post yesterday. Hammer would relish any chance to arrest him if they were spotted on the village wall.

The uniforms made them both highly visible and yet at the same time they also blended in perfectly, looking like any other generic guard on duty. Not the Princess’ personal bodyguard, or that guard that went missing yesterday, nothing fishy to see here. Nope. It was the weirdest choice for disguise ever. “Just keep an eye out,” Rhodes grumbled, focusing again on the castle gate.

There seemed to be even more guards out front manning the gate today; Hammer must have pulled everyone off their other posts. It was a bold move, risking the castle to attack anywhere else along its borders. If the other gate was in working condition, or the castle was any less well situated… but it seemed Hammer had _just_ enough brains not to take too stupid a risk.

 _Damn_.

“What about the other gate?” It was an elevated entryway, more like a small side door built high above the ground into the castle wall for use in sieges or other emergencies. It was closer to the back of the castle for just that reason, out of sight from the main gate.

“What about it?” Clint asked. “The walkway still hasn’t been replaced yet, so unless you can fly there’s no way we can get into a door that’s fifteen feet above the ground.”

“We don’t need to get in through the other gate,” Rhodes said. “We just have to make them _think_ someone is and let them panic.”

“Distraction? It could work.” Clint scratched at the scab over his nose. “It would depend on how big a distraction, of course, and how convincing.”

“Two distractions would probably be better, but there’s only two of us. If we get Hammer to even send a third of the men to the postern gate, in the confusion we might be able to slip into through the front in these uniforms.”

Clint nodded along, watching the guards at the gate. The men down there looked so bored or frustrated working under Hammer they probably wouldn’t care if someone walked past them as long as they were wearing the right uniform.

Now they only needed to figure out _what_ sort of distraction.

“What’s that?” Clint grabbed Rhodes by the arm, pointing at his face. “That look on your face just then - what was that?”

Rhodes sighed, an unhappy wrinkle pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was just an idea I had.”

“What was the face though?”

“It’s a pretty stupid idea.”

“I’m pretty open to stupid ideas.”

“Even ones that could literally blow up?” Rhodes slid a challenging look at Clint. Obviously, he didn’t know the archer well enough to realise how that look was a surefire way of making whatever stupid idea he had appeal more to Clint. Rhodes sighed, “We’ll need to go back to my Mom’s house then.”

“Awesome,” Clint said, already scrambling to get down from the walkway. “D’you think she still has any of that bread left from breakfast?”

Rhodes hurried after him, “Hey, no! You already had a whole loaf!”

 

* * *

 

Steve kept systematically trying to move different parts of his body. So far, only his eyes, mouth and lungs seemed to be back under his control. He could sometimes jiggle his head, but definitely nothing was consciously responding yet below the neck.

At least Tony was comfortable to lean on. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing that he couldn’t quite feel or move the rest of his body. Steve could still smell just fine, and the alley they were hiding in didn’t smell clean. He suspected that they were sitting in a puddle of urine.

If he turned his head a little though, his nose nearly brushing the hair by Tony’s ear, Steve could only smell brandy and sweat and something faintly metallic. It was much better than smelling old piss. “You found your family’s killer then.”

“You remember that?”

Steve smiled to himself, thinking back to their duel. “You’re not an easy fella to forget.”

Tony seemed pleased. “Count Stane. I’m going to get my revenge.”

“Good,” Steve said firmly. “Give him an extra hit from me. He’s the one who had me knocked out and put in that Pit with the Machine.”

“I will,” Tony promised.

“I’m going to need my sword and shield eventually.”

“You can’t even lift your arm yet,” Tony pointed out.

Steve nodded. “True,” and _oh crap,_  the nodding had let his head slip forward out of his control, as if to further highlight that point. His chin knocked against his chest, “But that’s hardly common knowledge.”

Tony didn’t say anything, the arm he had around Steve’s waist reaching up to lift his head up again, and he seemed to decide to leave his arm around Steve’s shoulders as some sort of cushion.

“Now,” Steve decided to carry on as if nothing had happened and he was perfectly in control of his body, “We have a plan on getting into the castle, but there may be more problems once we’re inside.”

“I’ll say,” Tony huffed. “How am I supposed to find the Count? Once I do, how do I find you again? And once I have, how do we escape?”

Steve’s head dropped backwards this time, and it was almost intentional. He’d never liked it when people pointed out the flaws in his plans. It tended to wear away at the confidence he had, though Tony made some good points.

Tony swore, said “Sorry, ignore me, I tend to overthink things,” and shuffled his arm out from under Steve’s head. Gloved fingers gently cupped the back of his neck, and Tony lifted Steve’s head again, leaving his hand on his nape to hold Steve upright himself.

In this position, with the small space between them now, Steve could make out the swordsman’s face at the corner of his eye. Tony’s lips were pressed tight and more lines creased his forehead, but his breathing was steady. He looked determined. He _was_ determined. Ready. Whatever happened, whatever worries Tony might have, tonight Steve knew would bring a decisive end to Tony’s long fight, in one way or another.

“Worrying’s fine,” Steve said. “But I’ve been beating inconceivable odds since I was a boy. This plan will work too.”

Tony nodded, but his expression didn’t really change. The worry was still there to see. If Steve could just move his arm, he’d reach over and hold Tony’s hand. Do something, anything, just to comfort the other man a little. Being so helpless was grating on Steve’s patience. As it was, all he could do was lean his head more heavily into Tony’s hand.

Tony seemed to understand though, and Steve smiled as Tony started asking questions about his shield instead.

 

* * *

 

His wedding clothes had been delivered by three members of the King’s guard along with Bucky’s lunch tray. Bucky didn’t touch the food - no cutlery with the meal to allow Bucky the chance of arming himself with even a _spoon_ \- but they hadn’t left after the delivery until Bucky had changed into the new outfit.

He changed just to get them to leave him alone. The guards never took their eyes off him as he undressed, but Bucky had lost most issues about public nudity within his first weeks joining the King’s Army years ago. And any insecurities he might still have had were definitely gone by the time he lost his arm. Between the nightmare of bedpans, the nurses giving him sponge-baths when Bucky had still been too weak to clean himself, and then the utterly dark and bloody nature of his missions as the Winter Soldier, a little nudity just didn’t bother him compared to other things.

Pale blue and white, satins and silks, with silver embroidery and pearl details, it was about as un-Bucky an outfit as it could get. He felt utterly ridiculous. Bucky could only imagine how Natasha felt at the moment putting on her own wedding dress. They’d be dressed in a matching set.

Bucky looked down at himself, holding out his arms and just staring completely bewildered by the sleeves that hung from his arms to his ankles. They weren’t practical in any sense. _So much waste._ He couldn’t fight in this. Or, he could, but it wouldn’t be practical or easy.

So many places to hide a weapon, and not a weapon to hide. Bucky growled at the thought, frustrated, feeling more vulnerable without a knife on him than he had when he’d stripped naked earlier.

He wasn’t getting married tonight, no matter how he looked.

Bucky knew that. Natasha knew that too, he had no doubt. It was a charade, a play to put on appeasing the King and his men until they had the chance to strike. They only had to wait for the opportunity.

And there was always the possibility that Steve would just appear to stop the wedding.

He’d come back to life, crashing a wedding should be easy compared to that.

Bucky was remarkably calm about the coming evening. Then again, it wasn’t his first time expecting it to be his last day.

There would be fighting tonight, and he might die, but Bucky wasn’t afraid of that. The knowledge that Steve was out there, _alive_ , buoyed his heart. It reminded him of why he seemed to be going along with the wedding - to protect the innocents, those who couldn’t protect themselves. Bucky wouldn’t ever forget the casual way the King had threatened the lives of so many if he failed to comply. With no idea who was or wasn’t Hydra (and therefore innocent), Bucky couldn’t risk such a high kill number on account of him. And he had no doubts the King could carry it out, he had enough highly-trained men on his personal guard alone to take on the rest of the castle. The bored irreverence to all those innocent lives had chilled Bucky more than the threats the King had made against Bucky’s own life.

And the tentative friendships he’d started to build with Natasha and Clint gave comfort to Bucky, knowing that he wouldn’t be fighting the King alone. He hadn’t seen either of them since the confrontation and revelation about the King’s ties to Hydra, but Bucky had no doubts. No matter how much the guards tried to imply that Clint had run to save his own skin, or that Natasha had been inducted into the evil organisation, Bucky held tight to what he knew to be the truth.

Even the memories of Stark and Thor and Rhodes gave him strength. Bucky spent time remembering how his kidnappers could still joke and smile and be gentle in spite of the hardships they’d obviously endured. It had also been the most entertaining kidnapping Bucky had experienced. The easy friendship he’d seen between the two men had reminded him of childhood days with Steve too. And Rhodes’ unfailing loyalty to the memory or the ghost of his friend - dead or alive - Bucky couldn’t help be in awe of such strength.

These were the kinds of people worth protecting.

Those were the people Bucky was going to fight for.

Tonight, either Hydra fell or Bucky did.

Even if Bucky was dressed like a throw cushion and with not a weapon on hand.

 

* * *

 

Thor ran down to Miracle Max’s small house, banging his fist on the door, sweating and too out of breath to announce himself from sprinting all the way here from the village. He heard something inside crash, and then the door slammed open without any warning, the edge smacking into his face with a familiar _crunch_ to his nose and knocking Thor off his feet.

He blinked up at the sky, a little dazed but mostly amused, and a voice cried out, “ _Again_ , Jane?”

“Oh, no!” Jane appeared above Thor. He beamed at the sight of her face. It only seemed to worry her more, her eyebrows pinching and lovely brown eyes so wide. For such a small lady, Thor was amazed at the force she could wield. “I’m so sorry! I swear I’m not doing this on purpose.”

Darcy hovered over Jane’s shoulder, “What are you doing back, Muscles? Forget something?”

Thor sat up with some help from them both and wiped carelessly at the blood on his lip. “We need Bruce’s help storming the castle.”

“You need Bruce, or you need Hulk?”

“Both.”

Darcy started to cackle, “Oh, this is gonna be so good.”

 

* * *

 

Clint gnawed on the block of cheese Mrs Rhodes had given him, since she’d had no more left of the bread he so enjoyed, and watched the two Rhodeses work on the table across from him. He’d earned his cheese from raiding one of his emergency stashes in the woods earlier, retrieving a few quivers full of arrows.

Now Clint watched as Mrs Rhodes meticulously weighed black-powder on a small set of balance scales, tipping the contents onto little squares of fabric which she then folded and twisted up into little pouches.

Little pouches of black-powder that Rhodes then took from his mother and carefully attached at intervals down a long fuse. On the other end of the table, a dozen of Clint’s arrows were already dipped in a tar-resin mixture - ‘his own recipe’ like it was normal to be exchanging recipes for making incendiary devices - waiting to dry for later use.

Mother and son didn’t need to say a word as they steadily worked, and eventually, Clint couldn’t contain himself a moment longer.

“Are we just not going to talk about all the barrels of black-powder?” Clint blurted out, spraying cheese across the table. “Or your scary know-how for casually whipping up some explosives?”

Mrs Rhodes just brushed the cheese crumbs off her next square of fabric, while Rhodes gave him a sardonic smile. “You saw the barrels last night.”

“I thought they were ale barrels! I didn’t know I was sleeping in a room filled with explosives!” Clint squawked. “Who sees that many barrels in someone’s home and has their first thought go to _black-powder_? Where did you even get all this?”

“I told you,” Rhodes said. “My brother-in-law is a merchant. He sometimes gets paid with goods, not gold, and sells me any surplus at a good price. But I can’t exactly keep that in the barracks without getting asked too many questions.”

“Why would you _need_ so much—? Nevermind! Explain how you know so much about making explosives then.” Clint turned to Mrs Rhodes, “Did you teach him?”

“I’m a midwife, dear. But you don’t spend as much time as we did with the Starks and not pick up a thing or two,” she said. “They were weapon makers, Mr Barton. Very good ones too. Count Stane took over the business when Maria remarried, but the quality hasn’t been the same since.”

Rhodes nodded, “Back then, Mr Stark lived and breathed new technology so much that you just sort of absorbed some knowledge if you listened for long enough. I’m pretty sure Ana knew how to make a simple grenade, and she was their cook. And when they were behind on an order it was all hands on deck. Turned out, I had a knack for it.”

Clint blinked in disbelief at the pile of explosives growing on the table between them.

“Don’t worry, these are more loud than dangerous,” Rhodes said, misunderstanding Clint’s stunned expression. “Big bang, lots of smoke, but not much else.”

“Mhmm,” Mrs Rhodes nodded along, expertly twisting the top of a new pouch with a neat flick of her wrist. “You don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone you don’t intend to.” She paused before tying up the pouch, meeting Clint’s eyes. “Unless you wanted a few to do some damage? It’s not too late for that.”

But Rhodes shook his head, carefully setting aside the armed fuse and reaching for a fresh rope. “No, we just want to cause a distraction to draw attention to the postern door.”

Clint gaped at the other man, “Who _are_ you people?”

Rhodes had a smug smile pulling at his lips while Mrs Rhodes preened at her son, a twinkle in her dark eyes, “James, you haven’t told him?”

“Told me what?”

“It wasn’t all just searching for Tony I did whenever I disappeared,” Rhodes said calmly like he wasn’t about to blow Clint’s mind. The archer tried to brace himself for whatever he was going to hear. “I knew I’d need to build up some sort of a name for myself too, in case Tony was in trouble and needed me to bail him out when I found him. In those circles, it’s all about reputation.”

That was a world Clint remembered all too well. There were still pockets across the world that shuddered at the names he’d once worn, and Clint made sure to keep up the stories attached to them, for the day he might ever need to slip into those old roles again. “Go on then. Let’s hear it.”

“Let’s see,” Rhodes demurred, clearly enjoying the moment. “You ever hear of the War Machine?”

Mrs Rhodes cooed over her son’s other name. Clint fell out of his chair and dropped his cheese.

 

* * *

 

Natasha’s door opened and the Queen and her ladies-in-waiting spilt inside. Some part of her burned to just grab her mother and run, just knock over anyone who stood in the way.

But she saw the dreamy slackness of the Queen’s face, how she didn’t quite focused on anything in the room, smiling vacantly, and Natasha knew she couldn’t risk it. Not with her mother like this. The King had probably anticipated Natasha’s temper and already given orders to have the Queen in such a state before the wedding.

The Princess pinned a dark glare instead on the three ladies-in-waiting, trying to figure out which of them were working for the King. At one time or another, Natasha had seen each of them pour the Queen her tea, so all of them were suspect to the Princess.

The deadliness of her glare might have been negated somewhat by the frivolous and restrictive wedding dress Natasha was wearing. The string of pearls draped around her throat, a wedding present from the King, felt more like a noose.

“You look lovely, darling,” the Queen said softly.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we head down then?”

A glance out of the open door and Natasha spotted some King’s guards waiting to escort them to the castle’s private chapel. The sun was starting to dip outside, and the light through the window set her mother’s golden hair to a burning red that nearly matched Natasha’s own. Their silver tiaras glittering in the sunlight, Natasha linked her arm with her mother and walked out of her rooms with her head held high, ignoring the guards flanking her on both sides.

Bucky had probably already been escorted down.

As they crossed the courtyard to the chapel, Natasha brought her mother to a sudden stop and turned to face her. There was something she needed to do, just in case anything went truly wrong tonight.

Without a care for all the eyes on her, Natasha leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the Queen’s cheek, startling the older woman half out of her daze. She turned curious eyes over to the Princess, a confused smile on her lips, “What was that for?”

“Just because you’ve always loved me,” Natasha said, indulging in brutal honesty as she watched her words fan a new light in her mother’s eyes. “I wanted to do that now in case I don’t see you after the wedding.”

Maria slowly blinked at her daughter, before hesitantly leaning over to press a kiss of her own on Natasha’s cheek. She settled back with a satisfied turn on her lips.

Natasha nodded to her mother, “I love you, too.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Maria said, letting Natasha lead them on to the chapel again, attendants buzzing around them in a flurry. Before she turned her head though, Natasha thought she saw a spark in her mother’s eyes, something burning brighter with every step, fighting to get out.

She wondered at how the look in her mother’s eyes seemed so familiar to her.

The doors to the chapel opened, the sound of the organ pouring out like a dirge, and Natasha started up the aisle.

 

* * *

 

“Everyone ready?”

“Bring it,” Tony nodded.

Steve looked at the small group in front of him - he could turn his head now, that was progress - and couldn’t help the warm feeling as he took in each face. They all might have their own reasons, but they were all assembled here together nonetheless to ultimately help stop a wedding and reunite Steve with his True Love.

They looked at him to lead, and Steve couldn’t quite believe it. None of them seemed to care that he was all but useless right now, Tony the only thing holding him up, with Steve draped over his back.

Since he couldn’t carry anything else, Jane was currently holding onto Steve sword and shield. Darcy was busy straightening the black cloak across Bruce’s shoulders, ignoring how the alchemist kept trying to wave away her fussing. Thor met Steve’s eyes with a joyful look, despite his nose bruising, and the blood that had dripped onto his collar, apparently indifferent to the ropes currently binding his wrists. To be honest, the ropes didn’t really look like they posed any challenge against Thor’s strength anyway.

“Alright, I’ll go over it one last time,” Steve said, pulling in all their attention. “Jane, just wait here behind the palisade until Thor gives you the signal. Darcy, you’re to wait here as well until it’s time for you to escort Tony and me to the gate. You’re sure the Hulk will recognise you as a friend?”

“I’m telling you, the big guy’s a softie.”

Steve held back a smile as he listened to Tony petulantly mumble under his breath about wanting to meet the Hulk too. “Right. Bruce and Thor, wait until you get as close as you can to the largest cluster of guards before you let out the Hulk. Clear?”

“Aye,” Thor said, shuffling where he stood, eager for the fight awaiting them.

With his head over Tony’s shoulder, Steve knocked at Tony’s jaw with his chin and leaned even closer, “And you’re sure you can carry me until Thor can take over?”

Tony turned his head enough for Steve to see the smirk on his lips and feel the soft scratch of Tony’s goatee against his cheek. “I’m no Thor, but I can manage your heavy ass until then.”

“I’m gonna kick you for that.”

“Rude.”

“This could go so very, very wrong,” Bruce groaned, but said nothing about backing out.

Darcy excitedly pumped her arms into the air, and Thor seemed to take that as a starting signal because he headed out from behind the palisade, giving Bruce no choice but to stumble after him so he wasn’t left behind. Steve dropped his chin to Tony’s shoulder and watched the pair approach the gate.

“And we’re off to a smashing start,” the swordsman whispered, and Steve bit back another grin.

The guards shuffled warily as they noticed Thor approaching, Bruce hurrying to the bigger man’s side, speaking quickly and pointing at the coat of arms stitched onto the black cloak he wore. They couldn’t hear what Bruce was saying from here, but when Steve saw him start to wave at the cloak more frantically, he had a feeling the guards weren’t buying that Bruce worked for the Count.

“Now?” Tony asked.

But Steve shook his head, “Not yet.”

They needed to let Bruce get a little closer, close enough that the guards wouldn’t risk larger artillery so near to the castle and close combat was their only option. Steve didn’t know how big the Hulk would actually turn out to be, so the element of surprise was a lot of what they had to work with here.

 

* * *

 

Inside the chapel standing side by side with Bucky, Natasha looked the picture of tranquillity as she seemed to pay rapt attention to the clergyman giving his address to the people gathered.

Bucky had no idea how she was maintaining such a calm expression - and he knew it must be a thin facade to the wrath simmering behind painted lips - but he could see the King looked almost pleased where he was standing not far from the clergyman. He’d left his guards flanking the Queen sitting in the front pew, an unspoken and unnecessary reminder of what was at stake.

In Bucky’s opinion, the clergyman left a lot to be desired as an orator. He spoke in a tone that would stop time, an endless drone extolling the virtues of order through overcoming pain and suffering. The man had to be Hydra, only someone so evil as that could choose to make a fire-and-brimstone speech for a wedding.

A sudden _BOOM_ through the castle cut through the chapel, finally shutting up the clergyman.

The King shot frantic looks at the Count which had the man hurrying out of the chapel.

At Bucky’s side, Natasha began to smile.

 

* * *

 

Another man had now stepped out from behind the guards to look down at Bruce and Thor, shouting angrily as he pointed at the bigger man. Steve had a feeling that this was probably the man in charge. He didn’t have the same uniform as the other guards.

“Now?” Tony asked again.

“Nearly—”

A loud _BOOM_ sounded, and then another, and another, a staccato of explosive sounds that just continued to erupt from the other end of the castle. It made everyone jump, but Steve’s eyes were trained on Bruce in front of them. He’d hunched over at the sudden noises, flinching, shoulders up by his ears, and Thor was slowly shuffling away to give the man more space.

“Rollins, take a unit and find out what was making that noise!” the one in charge yelled, trying to maintain some sort of control over the whole situation. “The rest of you - stand your ground!”

Next to him, Steve heard Darcy go “Umm…” and Jane sigh a small “Uh oh,” as from one blink to the next, Steve was no longer seeing the soft-spoken alchemist standing before the castle. Bright green flesh rippled through the black cloak and tunic, muscles three times as broad as Steve's emerging from the shredded fabric, rising to stand even taller than Thor.

 _The Hulk_.

 

* * *

 

####  **The Wedding**

Silence rang out for a moment in front of the castle gate, the guards struck dumb as they stared up at the massive green form looming over them, casting them all in shadows from the setting sun. Steve could only imagine whatever expression was on the Hulk’s face to leave all those guards looking so terrified.

“Stand your ground, men!” the one in charge shouted again, voice warbling off as the guards started peeling away in fright.

Then one last _boom_ rang from the other side of the castle, and the Hulk threw back his head with a furious roar that drowned out the explosions. When he finished his battle cry, he started swinging his thick arms and swiping at any guards still too petrified or slow to get out of the way.

“Stay where you are!” the one in charge was desperately screeching, “Come back! _Come back!_ ”

“ _Now_ —?”

“Go, go, go!” Steve yelled in Tony’s ear and the swordsman booked it straight for the gate, Steve banging his chin on the swordsman’s shoulder with every step and Darcy running at their sides as they made their way around the Hulk.

 

* * *

 

The King hadn’t quite been panicking when the first loud boom had sounded, and not even the successive loud echoes hadn’t rattled the man too much, other than him getting the clergyman to hurry along in his speech. The clergyman seemed the only one unbothered by any interruption, doggedly determined to finish his dour speech.

“Skip to the end!”

The clergyman huffed, glaring at Bucky like everything was his fault, “Have you the ring?”

Then something outside suddenly _roared_ , a sound so powerful it carried its rage throughout the castle's stone walls and chilled Bucky to the bone to hear. Even Natasha looked rattled, green eyes open wide as she shared a quick look with him.

The King slapped the wedding ring into Bucky’s hand, just as people started screaming outside.

“I’ll bet anything that’s my Stevie, coming to crash this wedding,” Bucky told him.

“Your Steve is _dead_ ,” the King hissed. “I killed him myself!”

Bucky smiled, “Then why do I see fear in your eyes?”

 

* * *

 

Thor had already broken free of his rope bindings and was cheering for the Hulk when Tony reached his side. Darcy kept her arms held out, a human barrier between the three of them and the Hulk, though he didn’t appear too bothered by their presence; the Hulk seemed more focused on anyone passing by in the guard uniform. Bruce’s grudge against the Chief Enforcer and his men clearly seemed to have carried through.

It was utter chaos, and Steve was simply amazed that everything still seemed to be generally going to plan. The guards had all left the gate unprotected, either fleeing for their lives or trying to fight and subdue the Hulk. Only the one in charge remained plastered to the door, white-faced and sweating, his glasses hanging crooked across his nose.

“Give us the gate key,” Steve said, glaring down at the shorter man from over Tony’s shoulder.

The man trembled, “I have no gate key.”

Tony nodded calmly, “Thor, tear off his arms.”

“O-oh!” the man squeaked as Thor loomed closer, and he whipped off a chain from around his neck. A brass key dangled from the chain. “You mean this gate key!”

Thor took the key before pushing the man aside and unlocking the gate, throwing it open, and then turned to wave at Jane still by the palisades. She sprinted over, huffing as she carried Steve’s things over. “Can you even hold any of this yet?”

Steve could pinch his hands closed like a claw, and that was about it, but it was enough for him to clamp down on his shield. The sword was too difficult to hold, so Steve reluctantly told Jane to keep it for now.

Tony then passed Steve over for Thor to carry, drawing his sword and stepping through the castle gate first. Thor held his hammer up ready in one hand and used his other arm to hold Steve up against his side, but paused, hesitating before following Tony inside. Jane shooed them off with a smile, “We’ll be fine. Darce and I can handle the Hulk.”

Darcy was already cackling behind them, cheering for Hulk as he swatted at another guard.

“They’ve got this, Thor,” Steve said, his feet sliding from under him and feeling about as useful as a ragdoll, his shield dragging along the ground. Thor nodded, determinedly marching them into the castle after Tony.

 

* * *

 

“Where- where did that come from?” Rhodes stuttered, having rounded the corner of the castle to find mayhem surrounding a very big, very green, very angry man smashing at the castle guards.

Clint gaped at the sight for a moment, rubbing at one ear. It was still ringing from the explosives they’d set off which, as Rhodes had promised, had been very loud. Clint could still faintly smell the rotten stench of sulphur on the both of them from all the smoke.

“There _are_ fewer guards now, I suppose…”

“You were the one who thought two distractions would be better,” Clint pointed out, before unstrapping his quiver and pulling up his outer tunic. “Let’s not question our luck.”

“I’m allowed to question why you’re stripping though, right?”

Clint huffed, his blond hair sticking up after pulling free of his tunic, and pointed at the angry green man who was literally hurling a man over the village wall at that moment. “Do _you_ want to try and sneak past whoever that is while looking like the rest of the guards?”

Rhodes watched the guard clear the palisade with a sort of surreal detachment. He spotted another guard already hanging from the wooden fence, apparently having given up on trying to get down. The angry green man had thrown enough men to _improve his aim_.

And some crazy lady was cheering for him by the gate, yelling out scores for each throw.

“Nope,” Rhodes hurriedly stripped his outer tunic off too. It left them in their chainmail, but they at least looked less like the other guards. “Shall we?”

They waited for the angry green man to turn his back and roar at some particularly brave - or foolish - men going to attack him with long spears, and made a dash for the already open gate.

 

* * *

 

“And do you, Princess Natasha—”

“Man and wife,” the King snapped at the clergyman. “Say, _man and wife_.”

The clergyman obediently said, “Man and wife.”

“Now put the ring on her,” the King said.

Bucky slid the ring on Natasha’s finger only a moment before the King whirled around, snapping orders at his men to have the newlywed couple roughly pulled back down the altar and bundled out of the chapel.

“We’re under attack, you have your orders. Get them out of here and keep out of sight! Don’t lose the Princess or Barnes,” the King shouted. “And take the Queen to her room.”

The Queen was nearly swept off her feet ahead of them, throwing confused and startled glances over her shoulders. From the dazed slope to her jaw, Bucky thought the Queen looked as if she was waking from a nap. She reached back, snagging on the edge of the Princess’ long sleeve, “Natasha…?”

Natasha reached forward, fingers clutching the Queen’s hand, “Mother—!”

The King’s men dragged them apart, carrying the Queen down another corridor to her rooms. Bucky didn’t think he would ever forget the frightened sound she made when Natasha’s hand slipped from hers. Natasha looked beyond furious, empty hands curled into fists.

Bucky covered one of her fists in his hand, tugging her closer to whisper, “Do you know what that was before?”

“No,” Natasha whispered back, eyes still fixed on the direction the Queen had been taken. “But hopefully whatever it was isn’t on the King’s side.”

The way the guards were taking the long way through the castle, and checking around every corner, made Bucky suspect that the King was definitely not behind the loud booming sounds. Or whatever had been roaring.

“You think it’s your Steve?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe,” Bucky said. “Feels like his kind of insanity.”

 

* * *

 

The chapel had turned out to be empty already, so Steve kept directing them through the castle up towards where he thought Bucky might have been taken. The hallways had been empty so far, but Tony hadn’t dropped his guard. At the next corner they turned, Steve saw Count Stane appear at the end of the corridor, flanked by half a dozen armed men.

All of them wore that silver crest with ten rings.

Steve could see Tony’s arms trembling with fury.

The Count was very pale as he stared at the three of them, eyes often darting back to Tony, but his voice was steady, “Kill the dark one and the giant. Leave the third alive for the King.”

The Count’s men ran forward and Tony met them with a clash.

Watching him fight someone else as he was now, Steve could only stare in awe at the swordsman. Every move he made was precise and devastating as he spun and dodged and lunged with his sword, a blazing beacon that could surely outshine the sun. Tony was so quick that he seemed to be dancing, his sword merely a bright flash at the end of his hand. Six against one, and they were no match for Tony, even attacking all at once as they did. The fight was over nearly as soon as it began, the men all falling and Tony standing with a flourish, triumphant in the circle of their fallen bodies.

He took a heavy step forward, and Steve couldn’t help thinking in that moment Tony was simply _breathtaking_ , the power just rolling from his shoulders as he approached the Count.

The Count had turned paler still and drawn out his own sword when his men had fallen, staring at Tony with a look of utter disbelief on his face, as though he was staring at the face of his worst nightmares. And maybe he was.

“Hello,” Tony said, voice soft and dangerous. A shiver ran down Steve’s spine. “My name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die.”

The Count just stood there for a moment in front of Tony, making no move with his sword, before suddenly turning on his heels and running away. Tony gaped for a moment, shocked that the man would choose to run like that, and then sprinted after him, leaving Thor and Steve behind. He chased the disappearing glimpses of the Count through several corridors before nearly running headfirst into a door. The bastard had locked it behind him! And no matter how hard Tony threw himself at the door, it _would not open_.

“Thor!” Tony yelled. “Thor! I need you!”

Thor was torn, glancing after the swordsman, and then looking down at Steve in his arms. The pirate still couldn’t walk, could hardly move his arms with the shield all but useless in his clumsy grip. “I cannot leave Steve alone!” Thor shouted back.

“He’s getting away!” Tony yelled again, desperate, kicking hopelessly at the door. “THOR - _PLEASE!_ ”

Thor sighed, gently setting Steve down and propping him up against a large suit of armour. “I will be right back,” he assured Steve, before jogging after the sounds of Tony throwing himself against a door.

Pushing the swordsman back, Thor smashed the door with one mighty swing of his hammer, the wood crumbling into splinters. Tony gave him a quick “Thank you” and ran through the open doorway. His part done, Thor headed back for Steve.

But when he returned to the intersection where the Count’s fallen men still littered on the ground, Thor was alone. _Where was Steve?_ The man couldn’t have gotten too far in the state he was in, surely? Thor had only been gone a few moments!

Steve might have vanished into thin air, but someone else just as suddenly appeared. Two someones. Men in chainmail. They wore neither the red eagle of the King, nor the ten silver rings for Stane, but Thor didn’t know them. And yet they’d somehow gotten past the Hulk, Darcy and Jane. They were obviously dangerous.

The two men quickly took in Thor with his hammer and the six dead men at his feet, and quickly there was an arrow aimed at Thor’s face and the other man had drawn out a broadsword.

“That isn’t Steve, is it?” asked the one with the broadsword.

The one with the bow and arrow shook his head, “He’s blond and bearded too, but no, this isn’t Steve.”

“You know of Steve?” Thor demanded. “Have you taken him? If you have harmed him—!”

“We haven’t harmed anyone,” the one with the broadsword said. “Yet.”

The archer tipped his head slightly, sharp eyes taking in his long hair, “… Are you _Thor_?”

“How do you know my name?” Thor growled, growing only more suspicious, raising his hammer ready if either tried to attack him.

Instead, the broadsword dropped, the man holding it gaping at Thor with wide wondering eyes.

Before Thor could start bellowing more, demanding how these two knew so much about him and his friends, the archer lowered his bow too, arrow held away in one hand and arms open. “No one here wants to hurt your friends. We’re just here for the Queen, the Princess and Barnes - Bucky - the bridegroom. They’re all in danger.”

Thor searched for a lie on the archer’s face but found none. “I am also here for Bucky.”

“With Steve?”

“Yes.”

“So the thing outside?”

“The Hulk,” Thor nodded. “He is a friend.”

“Please,” the man with the broadsword jerked forward, hope in his eyes. “Is Ton—” his voice caught as he tripped hurriedly over his words. “Is Tony Stark with you?” He was looking around Thor with a frantic look on his face, the tentative hope falling when Thor spoke.

“Stark is not with me,” Thor said. “He has gone after the Count.”

“The Count,” the man echoed slowly.

“Count Stane,” Thor nodded. “The man who killed his whole family.”

“He did WHAT?!”

The archer winced, “Rhodes—”

“Which way?” Rhodes asked quickly. “Which way did they go?”

Thor turned to point the way only for the hallways to flood with men, all wearing over-tunics with the red eagle. The archer groaned, nocking the arrow in his hand again, “I knew everything was going too well.”

Rhodes raised his broadsword too, and Thor flicked his wrist to start his hammer spinning. “If after this I find you two have lied about my friends, you shall not live long enough to regret it.”

Clint shrugged, “Fair,” and let loose his first arrow as Thor and Rhodes charged.

 

* * *

 

Maria sat in her rooms gazing at a spot just past her knees, a small frown pulling at her brow. Her ladies-in-waiting were trying to get her attention, she recognised those uppity tones on her peripheral, as though Maria were a child not paying attention in lessons.

Right then, Maria was sure it was the complete opposite. She felt confused, a little drowsy, and very very frightened, but she was definitely _not_ inattentive in this moment. Her hearing, her sense of smell, even the way her trails of thought carried on, it felt like Maria was being roused from an unexpected nap.

Sadness and grief had painted her mind for so long that Maria had almost forgotten what else had lain under all those dark layers stained with her tears. Forgotten that her world hadn’t always been like that, had at one time been filled with such joy she’d only cried with laughter. She’d wanted to forget, she remembered that, because it had hurt to remember. But how long had it been? How long had she been gone? Why had nobody woken her?

 _Stark_.

The name had been a sharp pinch in a dream, like lightning across a dark sky, a voice screaming at her to _WAKE UP!_

 _Years_ , it had been years since she’d heard the name, since Maria had dared even think on it, and the pain hadn’t faded - she doubted it ever would - but _oh_ … oh, she _remembered_.

Maria remembered a house in the countryside, a place that had been a happy home. Tinkling laughter and sweet treats constantly churning out of the warm kitchen. A stern but always gentle deep voice assuring her everything was under control. Bright eyes and a dazzling grin setting her pulse racing and heart pounding with the thrill and the fear of new ideas and creations.

And she remembered small hands that needed tending to after hard work, and smooth cheeks that were so soft to kiss, and sweet songs at bedtime, and tight hugs in the morning, and such blazing _love_ encompassed in a boy that Maria couldn’t fathom such a light ever burning out.

When it had gone out, her world had fallen into more than dark, it had become almost empty. The one last spark she still had in her life had to be protected. It had to be kept _safe_. No matter what it meant for herself, Maria wouldn’t let anyone destroy her last little light...

 _Stark_.

“Your Majesty, your tea is cold.”

Maria glanced up, eyes casting over the small table with her tea set. A part of her which ached for the smooth slide into a muted world, where things didn’t hurt so much and the darkness was almost a comfort, told her to pour out a new cup and drink up and sleep with open eyes.

But Maria was tired of being tired.

“It’s more bitter usual,” she said. Her hands remained in her lap.

Aida shared tense looks with the other two ladies. Had they really thought that after all this time drinking the same tea, Maria wouldn’t notice a difference? It had been too late that morning when Maria had realised the change; it had become a habit to drink her tea quickly when she’d wanted that escape, and that habit had come to truly bite her in the ass, since she’d gulped down the tea before the stronger bitter taste had registered.

Maria was in better control of herself now. Too much in control, if the fidgeting and flutterings of her ladies were any indication.

“Perhaps some milk and sugar will help it go down,” Aida offered, passing the cooled cup of tea off to one of the other ladies. “Let me pour you a fresh cup.”

“Thank you,” Maria said, waiting patiently.

Aida’s hands were quick - they always were - in setting the little strainer over a new cup, pouring another full cup and whisking away any stray leaves.

Maria watched as a splash of milk was dropped into the black tea. “Strange wedding.”

“Yes, quite strange,” Aida said hurriedly, adding a spoonful of sugar to the cup and stirring briskly. She slid the cup and saucer across the table, closer to Maria. “Tea, your Majesty.”

“I’m actually not thirsty.”

Aida’s eyes widened, “Drink up now, it’s been a long day. We don’t want you dehydrated.”

“Where did the King send my daughter?” Maria asked, ignoring the cup for now.

“To the honeymoon suite, I think, with her new husband,” Aida said, nudging the cup closer. 

Maria wasn’t nervous, she realised, feeling quite proud of herself. She could see Aida was growing frustrated though by her unusual refusal of tea. She didn't seem to like losing the easy control she had over the Queen. Maria had never seen Aida truly angry, not that she could remember at least, but she had a feeling the young woman would be dangerous. She was certainly smart enough to be dangerous. Though her ladies-in-waiting all prepared her drinks, the tea leaves always came from Aida.

Whatever was in there that dulled Maria’s senses, it was carefully added by Aida's hand.

Maria shuffled forward in her chair and reached for the cup, and the tension in Aida’s shoulders started to slide away. The tea was still steaming, and Maria paused to blow on the surface. “The honeymoon suite… that’s on the floor above, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The tension zipped back up Aida’s spine the longer Maria held up the cup without drinking. “If you’re tired, I can help you—”

“Oh, I think you’ve helped quite enough, dear,” Maria said, and promptly poured the hot tea on the floor by her feet. Then she threw the empty cup at Aida.

The younger woman screeched, clutching a swelling eye as the cup bounced from her face and shattered on the stone floor. When the other ladies jumped up, Maria grabbed a handful from the sugar bowl and threw it in their faces, making them shriek and throw up their hands to cover their eyes.

With the three ladies distracted, Maria picked up her skirts and ran out, shutting the door behind her. Acting quickly, she pried a long pike from a nearby suit of armour and slid it through the door handle. With the metal shaft reaching across both sides of the door, there was no way for the door to swing inward. Maria had locked her ladies-in-waiting inside.

Letting loose a delighted grin at her triumph - Aida’s outraged yells were bliss to listen to through the door - Maria hurried away to the stairway. She knew she needed to get to Natasha.

Only, she almost tripped when she reached the stairs, shrieking in surprise at a man she found sprawled on the stone.

He blinked equally startled eyes up at her. Maria realised the man was also heading up the stairs, by way of _clawing_ his way over the stone floor. One arm was propped on the next stair up, while the other was dragging a shield behind him.

“Uh…” the man said. “Um…”

While the man still seemed stuck on the surprise of the Queen stumbling across him, Maria’s mind had already leapt ahead. “Are you Steve?”

The man seemed liable to have his lovely blue eyes pop right out if he tried to open them any wider. “How—?”

Maria crouched down and held out a hand, “Would you like some help?”

 

* * *

 

Stane was running ahead of him still, down through the belly of the castle, disappearing at the end of every room and hallway Tony had only just ploughed through. But Tony was gaining on Stane. He was closing in. He could feel it. Bright fire lit his veins and he pumped his legs harder, pushed himself faster, anything and everything to finally get to the end.

Tony flew into the great dining hall, caught a glimpse of long tables laid out for the wedding reception and a roaring fire pit in the middle of the room, and then he froze.

He couldn’t move a muscle.

Tony choked, a bare wheeze passing through his lips, all he could manage when his ribs refused to expand. It was hardly a breath, just a wisp, a mouthful of air, and it was the most Tony could do. His eyes were left fixed on the fire pit, he couldn’t look away, but he heard someone shuffling closer from the doorway.

Stane stepped into view, something glowing blue in the hollows of his ears. He peered down at Tony with beady eyes, just as large and terrifying as he ever had been in Tony’s nightmares. Only now he was really _here_ , this wasn’t a dream - _and_ _Tony couldn’t move_.

A smile started to stretch across that face, that grey beard shifting and brow lifting, the fear that had been in his eyes when Tony first gave chase now clearing away.

“Tony Stark,” Stane rolled the name over his tongue while Tony stood there slowly suffocating. “I thought I had you killed years ago.”

He could feel his heart rabbiting away in his chest - because somehow, miraculously, his heart was still going, though everything else had ground to a halt - and Tony couldn’t tell if it was pounding so hard from the fear, from the rage, or simply from its own desperate attempts to keep him alive.

Stane raised his hand, something small and metallic in his grip, thumb pressed firmly against whatever he was holding. “Something I salvaged from your father’s workshop. Nifty little thing, isn’t it? Your explosion destroyed the designs so it’s the only one in the world, and faulty at that,” Stane tutted. “The paralysis only lasts as long as it’s activated, but it shouldn’t matter in a few minutes. Air’s getting thin now. Isn’t it, Tony?”

It was. It was getting very thin.

“It’s incredible,” Stane said. “Have you been chasing me all these years, only to fail now? I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. How marvellous.”

Was this how Steve had felt, waking up after the Miracle Not-a-Pill? Tony thought this must be worse somehow. At least Steve hadn’t been left alone with a monster. At least Steve had been able to fucking _breathe_.

Stane was actually settling down, leaning back against one of the long tables to get comfortable as he prepared to watch Tony die. “It was that doctor, wasn’t it? He hid you somehow, I _know_ you were on that boat.” Stane just ran a hand down his beard while Tony crumpled unseen inside, remembering very well ‘that doctor’ Stane was talking about. “I thought blowing the whole ship up would’ve killed you, but you’re a slippery one, aren’t you? Survived even while everyone else didn’t. All those people - dead - because of you.”

 _Dad… Mom… I’m sorry…_ Tony couldn’t even close his eyes. The last thing he’d see in life would be this bastard’s face. _I tried… I tried so hard… I’m sorry…_ At least he’d die like his family. At least Tony would be with them again in death if he hadn’t damned himself too much in life. _Ana… Jarvis… maybe he’d see Yinsen again, too._

“It’s been more than twenty years, I’m impressed!” Stane grinned. “But you Starks do tend to fixate.”

The room was blurring and the light from the fire pit growing over-bright, nearly blinding Tony as he stared and stared, sweat pouring down his face. Even his stubborn heart was slowing now, pumping hard as it ever had, but there was no air left in his lungs, nothing left to feed his body. Tony was going to die on his feet, mere inches from the man who’d taken everything from him.

And Stane was still talking. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, boy.” Stane’s grin was all teeth peeking from his bushy beard. “It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

Tony couldn’t move away as Stane stood and drew closer. He could do nothing, _fuck everything_ , he was more useful when he was blind stinking drunk, _this isn’t fucking fair!_

Stane ran a finger along the top of his own lip and down his chin. “Did you grow that to remember Howard, or to remind _me_ of Howard, hmm? I suppose I’ll never know. You do look a lot like him.”

Something warm was dripping down his neck. _Blood_ , Tony thought distractedly, each futile beat of his heart pouring out a little more from his ears.

Stane took up his sword again, drawing it down Tony’s chest.

The sharp tip cut easily through the laces of his shirt and the shirt itself, exposing his chest to the cold air. White scars nearly gleamed in the firelight, pale creeping vines spreading out from the centre of Tony’s chest, a permanent reminder of one of the worst days in his life.

The scars made Stane smile again, “Ah, yes, I wondered what damage you’d done to yourself. So determined to stop me you were willing to die, eh? And I see that nothing’s changed there.”

Tony wanted more than anything to kill this man, but right in that moment, Tony just wished he could close his eyes. He didn’t want this monster to be the last thing he saw.

“It was just fate you survived it all only for me to end you now that you’re back.” Stane held up his sword, aiming it at Tony’s heart. “Tonight will be the ultimate end for the whole Stark family— _ah!_ ”

A writhing grey blur had launched itself at Stane’s other hand.

It was yowling loudly and clinging tightly with tiny claws no matter how hard the man shook his hand. _It was that dumb cat_ , Tony realised, the kitten from the village, the one he’d given some food when he’d been drunk and folded for a pair of big sad eyes.

Stane growled shaking his hand still, then made the mistake of suddenly throwing out his arm. His hand reflexively opened too, sending the gadget in Stane’s grip flying along with the kitten. The kitten landed on its feet with a disgruntled _mrow_ , but the device shattered on the stone.

Tony fell back against the wall, taking quick breaths, gorging himself on air. The room was slipping back into focus, and Tony slid his eyes to the kitten.

“Good boy,” he gasped, as his heart galloped, trying to make up for ever having slowed down. It felt like it was shaking his whole body with the force of every beat, shouting that Tony was alive, _alive_ , _alive_.

When he snapped his eyes back to Stane, the man looked stunned. One hand was bleeding, full of little scratch marks.

It took everything in him to stand, but Tony was fuelled by two decades of rage, a fire he’d fed with all his pain and grief, an altar on which he’d sacrificed the parts of himself which had once been gentle and soft and innocent. All to keep that vengeance burning through the years. Just enough to give him a reason to carry on.

He forced his back straight and slowly pushed away from the wall.

“Hello,” Tony said, voice scraped raw, barely audible. “My name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die.”


	7. The Revenge and The Ties Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's taken twenty years for this moment, and there's a lot to catch up on...

####  **The Revenge**

Tony was standing even as every muscle was screaming, his body protesting loudly at nearly suffocating only moments ago. He was grey-faced, sweating profusely, shaky all over, but the monster he’d been chasing for over twenty years was in front of him, so Tony ruthlessly squashed down everything except that fact. Nothing else mattered.

Stane snarled and thrust his sword at Tony’s heart.

With a flick of his wrist, Tony knocked the blade off course with his own sword, but he couldn’t dodge it entirely. He felt it, in some distant way, as the sword stuck deeply into his left shoulder.

Stane pulled his sword free and tried again for Tony’s heart.

Again, Tony smacked the blade off course. And again, he ended up skewered, right arm this time but at least it wasn’t his heart.

Pulling his sword free again, Stane left Tony bleeding from the two new injuries, and yet it still only registered with Tony from some detached place. The pain was irrelevant at the moment.

“Hello,” Tony said, finally slashing out with his sword and making Stane jump back. “My name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die.”

Their swords clashed again and again as Tony moved forward, step by step, forcing Stane deeper inside the dining hall. Stane was giving ground, but he put up a hell of a fight. It hadn’t just been his childhood memory warping to exaggerate the older man’s fighting skill. Tony might have offered almost no challenge in their last fight as a child, but he was older now, stronger too, and - Tony was thrilled to realise - he was _better_ than Stane.

The Count was good, but he wasn’t great. Not like Tony. Not at all like Steve.

Even as he was still gathering his strength, building up the speed of his attacks, Tony was almost surprised by how well the duel was going for him. Without his little gadgets and cheats, Stane couldn’t beat him. _Stane wasn’t going to beat him_.

“Hello!” Tony said, louder now than before, confidence rising. “My name is Anthony Stark! You killed my family! Prepare to die!”

Stane wasn’t going to give in that easily, even while he retreated. Then Tony’s arm shot out, and Stane stumbled back with a choked cry, clutching at the new wound in his left shoulder. “Stop saying that!”

His face was turning puce with something between humiliation and anger, but Tony’s feet felt so light he half-thought he could fly. In a deft move, Tony tossed his sword to his other hand, left arm striking out just as quick as his right, and stabbed Stane in his right arm.

Now they were matched. _Nearly there_.

“HELLO!” Tony shouted in Stane’s face, driving him up toward the high table, the Count in shock against the barrage of such fury. “MY NAME IS ANTHONY STARK! YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!  _PREPARE TO DIE!_ ”

Stane threw back both arms to the tabletop for balance, a stupid move that had him practically defenceless now. The point of Tony’s sword held in front of Stane’s face, already dripping in his blood. Tony’s shirt was seeping blood too, but that wasn’t slowing him down.

“Offer me money,” Tony said, goading the Count.

But Stane took it, took the imagined chance, not wanting to die. “Yes!”

Tony’s sword cut through the air like a whip, and Stane suddenly had a bleeding gash on one cheek. He stumbled back against the table, hands sliding over the table cover and sending pewter cups and plates clattering to the ground.

Stane looked humiliated and angry about it, nothing like the frightening spectre that had loomed over the darkest nights of Tony’s life.

“Power, too,” Tony said, “Promise me that.”

“All that I have and more, please—!”

Stane yelped as with another flash of his sword Tony left an identical gash to Stane’s other cheek. The man was now bleeding on both sides of his face. The Count looked at Tony, teeth grinding in spite of the smile he tried forcing on his face. It only twisted his face more. Now _that_ was more like the man Tony remembered all those years ago; a grin in the dark slapped over barely contained greed. Those scars Stane would carry forever now, for him and the world to see.

“You’re very good, m’boy,” Stane said, voice silky as he crooned to the swordsman. “Just like your father. Together, Anthony, together we could make something great. I helped your father build his riches once. We could do it again.”

Tony paused, and a flicker of triumph lit the Count’s eyes. “Offer me everything I ask for—”

“Anything you want!” There was something glowing in Stane’s eyes, and Tony didn’t think it was the fire pit behind him. It was something mad, and desperate, and dangerous, and greedy.

Madness must have been what drove Stane forward in one final bid to win, raising his sword to strike down on Tony. It didn’t work, Tony’s sword meeting his above their heads, and though it jolted his left shoulder like _hell_ Tony didn’t care because he finally had Stane right where he wanted him.

Tony thrust out his right hand, the palm hitting Stane’s chest with a loud smack.

A whirring hum started up as Tony flattened out his fingers, a strange sound like a whine growing in the space between them, a sound Stane obviously recognised. His eyes bugged out, darting between the hand over his chest and the dark expression on Tony’s face.

“You—”

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Tony spat, locking eyes with the Count. “You killed them all for _this_?”

Stane was still staring down at him in shock, “You finished it—”

“ _Anything I want_ , you said?!” Tony was nearly shouting again, voice pitching over the whine that was only getting louder. “I WANT MY FAMILY BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Light spilt out from under Tony’s hand, like a star bursting across the night sky, it outshone the whole room for an instant, burning so brightly.

When the light faded, Tony blinked, one arm still above his head holding back the Count’s sword. Stane was motionless in front of him, face frozen in some cross between panic and fear, his pale eyes bulging and blood still pouring from both his cheeks.

Tony stepped back, tentatively dropping his arms, and watched the Count crumple to the ground. There was a hole in the centre of his chest, blackened and smoking faintly on the edges, and hardly any blood Tony was almost surprised to notice, all cauterised from the flare.

He stood over the body for a moment just trying to comprehend that he’d finally done it. It had taken more than twenty years, but he’d gotten his revenge. _He'd done it._  The monster was dead and his family avenged. And Tony would even live to tell of it. He could faint from having actually done it, from having completed his task.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the success that was making Tony feel faint.

A dinner knife was in Stane’s loose grip, gleaming red with blood. It matched to a stab wound in Tony’s side.  _So that’s what the Count’s other hand was doing_. Cheap tricks to the very end.

It was the same scrubbed pewter as the rest of the dinnerware on the floor that had fallen from their duel. Stane had obviously swiped it from the high table. Blunt, the knife had done its job well enough. Tony fumbled and dropped his sword. This wound was larger than the others, and all the pain Tony had held back before now came crashing over him in waves.

He wobbled down to one knee and reached for his right-hand glove with his teeth, finding that the leather was smoking a little. Tony pulled the glove off to reveal underneath what looked like the thin skeleton frame of a metal gauntlet.

Tony had always known his weapon would hold just the once, had always intended for it to be used only once. The scraps he’d cobbled together to make it were too poor quality to last more than that anyway. There had been so many chances to use it over the years, but Tony had never taken them, not even to save his own life, because this was intended for one person and one alone. The gauntlet was falling apart now, the metal strips crumpled and charred. With a wince and a few shakes of his wrist, Tony freed his slightly burned hand. The gauntlet fell to the floor, broken entirely now, but like the dinner knife, it had done its job.

_Stane was dead._

Killed by the very technology Stane had so lusted after; poetic justice as Tony had intended.

For such an important moment, Tony didn’t find any joy in it. What he mostly felt then was just being able to _breathe_ properly, a heavy burden lifted, the chance to be free of a crushing shadow that had chased him most of his life. Tony could rest now. Tony could live.

Maybe.

Tipping over, Tony tried to catch himself with his good hand, but it jarred the injury to the shoulder and he dropped in a heap. It felt like he hit every scrape and bruise on his body all at once, Tony shouting in pain, quickly clamping his good hand over the injury in his side.

That was a lot of blood.

Everything hurt. _Everything_. And yet, as Tony curled on the stone floor, he found himself smiling, quite at peace. Whatever happened, Tony wished he would soon see his family again.

 

* * *

 

“You’re going mad, Jim,” Rhodes said to himself, shaking his head. “Why are you doing this?”

In spite of musing over his slipping sanity, Rhodes didn’t stray from his path. The little grey kitten kept bounding ahead of him, and Rhodes was following it. Like a crazy person.

But the kitten had appeared out of nowhere in the fighting, wailing at them loud enough to hear over the clash of swords, and all it took was Thor taking one look at the small creature and saying ‘Stark’s cat!’ for Rhodes to take off running after the fluffy thing, leaving Clint and Thor behind.

Maybe he was a little crazy.

“Where are you taking me?” Rhodes asked as if the cat could answer him. _Crazy person_.

It seemed to know where it was going, the little paws never hesitating on its run. It leapt down the stairs, and Rhodes followed it down, seriously questioning his bizarre choices in life for another moment before they reached the dining hall and Rhodey stared.

The room was a mess, tableware and flowers knocked from the long benches, and Count Stane dead, lying by the high table with a literal hole in his chest. But none of that was important. It was the other figure lying on the ground that held Rhodes’ attention entirely. The one the kitten was prowling around, batting a tiny grey paw at the man’s head.

Rhodes lurched forward, stumbling and clattering through the hall, not daring to blink as he fell to his knees by the prone figure. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the dark curls looked familiar, they looked the same, Rhodes had been searching for those curls.

There was blood.

It was… it felt so much like that night all those years ago, another body in a pool of blood. Rhodes wasn’t sure if he was about to finally find his best friend, only to find him dead too, but he’d never been a coward. And dead or not, Rhodes _needed_ to know. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and pulled, rolling him over onto his back. He was grey-faced but _awake_ , eyes hazy but slitted open, and he looked just about as shocked to see Rhodes, as Rhodes was seeing him.

There was something in the slope of the man’s jaw, the shape of his eyebrows… Rhodes was _so_ nearly sure he could scream. There were changes, of course, this was an adult not a child looking up at him. Yet even with those changes… the moustache and beard could make him a double to Howard if you didn’t look too closely. But the turn of the nose, the mouth, the shape of those eyes - Rhodes saw those nearly every day whenever he looked at the Queen.

“Tones?”

For a minute, Rhodes thought he’d made a mistake.

Maybe he was just doomed to see Tony everywhere he looked but never to find him.

Then the man blinked, squinting for a moment, and offered a hesitant— “… Rhodey?”

 _Rhodey_ , he let out a laugh that was more tears than anything, pulling the man- _Tony-_ pulling Tony up into his arms for a crushing hug. _Rhodey_ , he hadn’t heard that name in so long.

Tony was still tense. “Rhodey?” he mumbled again, sounding dazed even as Rhodey felt one arm creep around his back, fingers gripping tight to the chainmail. “Am I dead?”

“No,” Rhodey shook his head fiercely. “Not dead.”

“Dreaming?”

“You dream about me often?” he tried teasing, more concerned with pressing his grin into a truly awful smelling shirt and remembering when there was a lot less to hold when it was a skinny kid - all knees and elbows and big doe eyes - that Rhodey used to pull into hugs.

“Every night,” his voice broke with the truth of it, not quite hitting the same teasing note, and Rhodey couldn’t blame him. Tony just slumped in the hold even as he clung tighter, leaning into Rhodey entirely and trusting he’d catch him. “I dreamed about all of you.”

“Me too,” Rhodey sniffled, the room blurring even though he blinked rapidly. He reached up a hand to tangle in dark curls, cupping Tony’s head against his shoulder, “You stick with me from now on, yeah? I am not leaving you ever again.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds—” Tony was doing his own sniffling too. “That sounds really good.”

“I mean, how’m I supposed to have your back if you keep wandering off?

Tony nodded, burrowing deeper and ducking to tuck his head under Rhodey’s chin. Rhodey just shifted his grip and closed his eyes, beaming at the world as he held his best friend in his arms again at long last.

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Rhodey said softly, rocking gently. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The grey kitten circled around them with its little tail swishing in an arc. It paused to rub against Tony’s knee, tiny body quaking with the force of its purr, and Rhodey swore he was going to buy a dozen fish for the cat, two dozen, maybe an even hundred.

Sometimes, being a crazy person paid off.

 

* * *

 

The King’s men had taken Natasha and Bucky through the castle, back and forth, and up and down, in such confusing patterns, it was dizzying. Bucky honestly had no clue where they were now. The guards seemed a little confused too, not that it stopped them pushing along.

Bucky had taken several chances to lift a small dagger or two. Natasha hadn’t bothered, more focused on keeping track of where they were in the castle. She knew the place better than Bucky, so he was leaving it up to her to decide when and where would be best to start fighting back.

She chose to act when the guards led them into the stairwell of a secret passage.

They must really have been paranoid to bother using those on top of the wild goose chase through the castle. It wasn’t even as if anyone was actively following them. Bucky hadn’t noticed anyone, at least. The King seemed to take the sudden attack on the castle very badly.

In the narrow dark space between stone walls, where you could only shuffle through one by one, Natasha struck.

Ripping off her necklace, the pearls scattering across the ground, she used the chain like a garotte and had the guard in front of her by the neck. The sounds of his choking caught the attention of those behind, but they couldn’t push past Bucky’s bulky frame, and any that tried pushing found a sharp blade in their gut or a metal elbow to their face. And those ahead were no better off facing Natasha, who had no qualms smashing her head into someone’s face or biting anywhere soft. She probably would’ve done worse, but the tight space worked as much to their advantage as it hindered them too.

But with the two of them fighting back-to-back, they could effectively take on a whole group, the men finding their own larger combined attacks useless in essentially a bottleneck situation.

When they’d taken down enough guards for some breathing room, Natasha smacked a hand on what looked like any other stone brick, only it made the wall swing open. She grabbed Bucky by the arm and ran, her silk skirts fluttering and tattered, torn from the fight.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked.

“Honeymoon suite.”

“I thought we _weren’t_ going there,” Bucky said as they turned a corner to another staircase. “That was the whole point of the fight, wasn’t it?”

“It’s the last place they’ll expect us,” Natasha reasoned, flying up the stairs. “And the one place we can expect the King.”

“The man who wants us dead.”

“He’ll want to see us dead for himself.”

“So we’re running _toward_ people who are probably waiting to kill us.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky huffed but didn’t argue, “Sure, this sounds like a sane plan.”

“Don’t you want to bring down Hydra?” Natasha shot a glare over her shoulder, and Bucky threw one right back.

“Yeah, but I’d feel more comfortable with a few more people on _our_ side for backup.”

“You’re my backup,” Natasha told him simply as they reached the honeymoon suite.

Natasha wrapped the ends of her necklace chain around her hands while Bucky wiped the blood off his stolen daggers, leaving dark red streaks on the hem of his pale blue tunic. Giving her a nod, Bucky kicked open the door and barrelled through to tackle anyone on the other side, Natasha right beside him ready to launch herself at the next bad guy.

No one had apparently been waiting to kill them in the honeymoon suite.

The King wasn’t the only apparently acting a little paranoid now.

Bucky thought Natasha was actually pouting.

“It’s not like the King has infinite guards,” Bucky pointed out. “A lot are probably scattered through the castle defending against the attack. The ones who were escortin’ us were probably the ones with the kill orders.”

“Well, this was anticlimactic,” Natasha tutted, lowering her hands.

Another voice rang out in the room, “I was very impressed.”

Bucky and Natasha spun quickly, arms up again and ready to fight— “Mother!”

The Queen was smiling at them from behind a chair by the fireplace.

“What were you doing back there?” Natasha hurried to the Queen’s side, taking her hands and scanning her for any injuries. Other than some creases on her dress and a few flyaway golden hairs the Queen appeared unharmed, but Natasha fussed over her anyway. The Queen just gazed adoringly at Natasha with brighter eyes than Bucky had ever seen from her before.

“Steve told me to hide here,” the Queen said. “In case someone else came in before you.”

“Steve?!” Bucky’s heart flipped in his chest.

The Queen smiled softly and nodded to the big canopy bed that he’d pointedly been ignoring until now, and Bucky scrambled across the room to whip back the curtains.

There he was. Steve. Just… lying there, with a sheepish grin on his face, round shield on the bed beside him, and a soppy glint in his eyes as he stared back at Bucky.

Bucky dropped everything and threw himself on the bed, landing on Steve, knocking the breath out of him and not caring a bit.

“You stupid punk!” he growled, biting at Steve’s lips, not capable of _gentle_ right then, not with some wild feeling of triumph flowing through him from out of nowhere. Steve didn’t seem to mind, kissing back with just as much recklessness, holding nothing back of the ache of parting. “He told me he killed you,” Bucky said, words mangled in the press of their lips, never fully pulling away from one kiss to the next. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Was only mostly dead. Apparently,” Steve mumbled back, more interested in licking into Bucky’s mouth.

“You missed the wedding.”

“I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“I _mean_ I got married,” Bucky grumped, leaning back to glare at the fool he loved. “I’m _married_ , Steve!”

“It never happened.”

For a second, Bucky could only blink down at him. “What? No, I was _there_ , it happened. ‘Man and wife’ and everything.”

“It never happened,” Steve insisted, lifting his head to nip Bucky’s chin. “Did you say ‘I do’?”

“No, we sorta skipped that part on account of the castle coming under attack.”

“Then you’re not married. If you didn’t say it, you didn’t do it.” Blue eyes sloped to the side over Bucky’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you agree, your Majesty?”

Bucky shot up in the bed, turning to see the King enter the room. Natasha immediately shuffled her mother behind her. The King ignored them, his eyes fixed on the bed, and drew his sword. His face was blank, but something mad roiled below the surface of his cool mask. “A technicality shortly to be remedied. But first - to the death!”

“No,” Steve said, stopping the King short. “To the pain.”

The King paused, sword still raised. “I’m not familiar with that phrase.”

“I’ll explain. And I’ll use small words so you’re sure to understand, you hog-faced buffoon.”

Bucky heard a snort from the side, and couldn’t tell if it had been Natasha or the Queen, but the King wasn’t nearly so amused. “That might be the first time a man has _dared_ insult me.”

“It won’t be the last,” Steve assured him, and now Bucky had to hold back a laugh. Steve hadn’t changed the way he picked a fight. Not really. “To the pain means first you’ll lose your feet from the ankles, then your hands from the wrists, then your nose—”

“And then my tongue, I suppose,” the King sneered. “I obviously should have killed you more thoroughly. A mistake I won’t be repeating tonight.”

But Steve shook his head fiercely, “I wasn’t finished! Next, you would lose your left eye, and then your right—”

“And then my ears, _I get it_ , let’s get on with it!” the King huffed, losing patience.

“You’re outnumbered, Alexander,” the Queen reminded him.

“ _And_ I wasn’t finished!” Steve piped up, and Bucky didn’t understand why the punk seemed so intent on riling up the King. “You keep your ears, and here’s why: so every child’s shriek at your hideousness will be yours to cherish; so you never miss it every time a person cries ‘ _oh god, what is that thing?’_ when they lay eyes on you; and so that when I take apart everything you built, your dreams, your followers, your precious _Hydra_ , you will hear me perfectly when I tell you this - you will never win.”

The King stood frozen, a muscle jumping in his cheek and the madness only boiling more behind his eyes.

Steve nodded, “That’s what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I’ll tear it all down, there will be nothing of Hydra to rise again, nothing but you in your misery for however long you live.”

The King shook his head, “I think you’re bluffing.”

“It’s possible, pig. I might be bluffing,” Steve said. “It’s conceivable I’m only lying here because I lack the strength to stand.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to Steve. _What_.

“… Then again, maybe I have the strength after all.”

Slowly, Steve shifted, movements smooth as he rose from the bed.

His feet planted firmly on the floor and he stood, eyes locked with the King, lifting his shield with him and looking impressively vast and threatening and powerful. The star engraved on the shield caught the light from the fireplace, and seemed only to enrage the King more, his lip curling up in a snarl as he spat, “Shield!”

“You’ve heard of us. Good, that should make things easier,” Steve said. “Drop - your - sword.”

The King did exactly that, dropped his sword, but the look on his face made Bucky feel like the man was no less armed or dangerous without it. Didn’t stop Bucky tearing off one of the drapes from the canopy bed and tearing into strips, tossing half to Natasha as they bound the King and dumped him in the chair by the fireplace.

The Queen watched it all without saying a word.

“You think you can stop us, but you’re can’t. You think you can explain away my disappearance to all of Florin, but you can’t,” the King hissed angrily, and Natasha rolled her eyes and returned to her mother’s side, linking arms with the Queen. “Hydra will rise again, with or without me, they will succeed. Cut off one head, and two more shall— _umph!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled, using another scrap to stuff in the King’s mouth and muffle his preaching, “Heard this before.”

The King tried biting down and only wound up hurting himself; Bucky wasn’t stupid enough to put his flesh fingers near that man’s teeth.

The sudden pounding of feet outside the open door startled them, and Bucky had barely the time to pick up the King’s sword before two men stumbled through the door.

Thor took in the strange tableau of the room, eyes darting from Steve standing against the bedpost, to Natasha and her mother, to the King hogtied in a chair, and lastly to Bucky. His brow tightened with worry as he looked at them again, “Where’s Stark?”

The Queen froze and Steve blinked. “I thought he was with you.”

“No,” Clint said, lowering his bow. He was smudged with something sooty and there was blood on his chainmail, but he looked alright in spite of a livid bruise on the side of his face. “Rhodes went after him too. They’re not here yet?”

“In that case—” Steve started, taking a step toward the door only for his legs to buckle.

Bucky swore and leapt over to catch Steve, steadying them both against the bedpost. “What’s the matter with you? What was that?”

“He has no strength…” Thor began to explain, stopping to frown when the King started up with muffled shouting, tendons popping in his neck as he tried spitting out the gag. Thor lifted his hammer, giving it a casual swing from the wrist. “Shall I dispatch him for you?”

“No, we need him alive,” Steve shook his head. “He’s got valuable information on Hydra. First, let’s find Tony.”

“What do we do with _that_ then?” Clint asked, gleefully poking at the King’s face with the end of his bow. “Can’t leave him here unsupervised.”

A voice piped up from outside, _“Hello? GUYS? Yo, Muscles, you up there?!”_

_“Darcy, why are you like this?”_

_“I’m just gonna get Hulk to start yelling if you ignore me!”_

Thor threw open the window with nearly everyone crowding around behind him. A petite woman on the ground far below quickly spotted them and nudged another woman with a red hat, pointing with one hand while she awkwardly held a sword in her other. That must be Darcy, the one with the hat, who was cupping hands around her mouth to shout up to them again. Bucky was too busy gaping at the _massive_ green man looming behind the women, his brow settled in an almost petulant scowl as he half-heartedly crushed another metal helmet with his fingers.

“There you are! We finished down here. Should I sing to Hulk now?”

“Is Tony with you?” Steve yelled down as he dragged himself forward, Bucky unable to do anything except half-carry the idiot closer to the window.

“Nope,” Darcy shouted back.

Steve slumped back in Bucky’s hold, and he wasn’t the only one with a worried face. Thor looked particularly troubled, and Bucky couldn’t deny the chill in his own chest, a cold howling in his ribs. “You think Hulk can manage to catch something from up here?” Steve yelled again.

Bucky had a pretty good idea of what Steve had in mind and started to smirk. The Hulk would be a sufficient guard over the Hydra King while they searched for Stark.

The red hat tilted with her head, “Without squishing? That’s a big 'maybe'.”

“Well—”

“Natasha!” the Queen yelped, and the Princess was at her side in an instant, a hand reaching for the King’s face. But it was already too late.

The spit-soaked gag was limp on his knee, and saliva foamed from the King’s mouth. He gave them a triumphant grin even as the light faded from his eyes, his face turning purple and his eyes bugging out. Even choking as he was, Alexander Pierce had to have the last word.

“Hail, H-Hydra!”

There was stillness but not quite shock, and Bucky should have guessed that Clint would be the one to break the silence. “On the bright side, it’s one less thing to worry about. Right?”

 

* * *

 

####  **The Ties Between**

Natasha hovered in the doorway. Her feet hesitated at the threshold, boots toeing some invisible line before she stopped again. She kept her gaze averted, away from the knowing eyes that matched her own watching from inside the room, as she darted away.

“Did you manage to reach the door this time?” Clint drawled, a grin on his face as he joined Natasha on something she was choosing to call a tactical retreat.

She hissed at him, “I opened it!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Clint cooed. “Such progress.”

Natasha swiped at him and watched as he danced away with a giggle. The cut on Clint’s nose was almost healed already, and he wasn’t eager for any new hurts to his face. They reached Natasha’s private rooms, the furniture having been almost entirely reinstated, along with many new additions.

Thor lay sprawled asleep on a chaise with Jane a tiny blanket on top of him, papers of their scribbles spilling over their laps and onto the floor to join Thor’s ever-present hammer. Bruce seemed content at the windowsill, quietly looking out at the world turning in for the day, wrapped in a soft grey blanket with a kitten on his knee to match. Darcy sat with her back against his, reading from a stack of books she’d appropriated with manic glee from the King’s old office. Rumpled blankets and dirty plates and extra boots lay around the room like scattered breadcrumbs, evidence of others not just passing through the rooms but _living_ in them too.

Natasha couldn’t recall the last time her rooms had looked so full and _homey_. In some unspoken decision, everyone that wasn’t in her mother’s rooms had migrated here after everything. It pleased her in some odd way and made the lines of her face soften.

“He’s gonna be up eventually,” Clint said, breaking into her peaceful moment.

“I know,” Natasha insisted, grinding her teeth. “I’m working on it.”

Clint frowned, “What’s the problem?”

And that was the crux of the matter: the King was dead, his Hydra plans stopped; they were already rooting out other Hydra followers from the castle, in a hunt that was both satisfying and disappointing; everyone she cared for was alive and mostly well; her mother hadn’t touched a cup of tea in days; and Natasha was now Queen Regnant of Florin even without having had time for a coronation yet.

_So what was the problem?_

“I… have a brother.”

Clint knocked Natasha’s shoulder with his, “You mean you have another one.”

Natasha wanted to smack him. He was so embarrassing. Who just _said_ things like that out loud with their mouths and everything.

“You want him gone, your Majesty?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate and loud and entirely too honest.

Clint hummed but didn’t push for more. He hadn’t been lying about making progress; Natasha had gone from avoiding that whole wing of the castle to opening the door to the room and peeking inside. It was still pitiful progress in her mind considering it had taken her two days.

Bruce slid a look at them from his spot by the window but he stayed where he was petting the kitten’s back. Natasha swept over to sit on the other long chaise, Clint choosing to perch on a chair next to it. He didn’t rush her for an answer. Clint could wait in unending patience for something that mattered to him, he just didn’t often utilise that ability, choosing to be contrary more often for his own amusement.

It turned out to be a stupidly effective tactic against Natasha when she was in a mood.

“What if he’s nothing like me?”

The question burst out of nowhere, but Clint rolled with it, looking frustratingly unconcerned by this very big concern. “And?”

“Mother will want him with us,” Natasha said. “What if we argue?”

“You argue with everyone all the time and never care. Sometimes you do it on purpose just to see a guy tick. You argue with yourself worst most of the time. Like right now.”

A chuckle rolled out like a thunder across the room, felt more than heard, as Thor stretched on the other chaise. He wrapped his arms more securely around Jane still on top of him. “Hmm, that sounds like Anthony.”

Natasha tried to squash down the part that felt pleased on hearing that. Clint could tell anyway. “Give the guy a chance; he isn’t even awake yet, you don’t know that you won’t get along.”

She pursed her lips but couldn’t find any argument to that.

“He is still asleep?” Thor asked, eyes barely open and looking quite happy where he was.

Natasha nodded, “Rhodes and my mother are with him.”

“Good,” Thor chuffed and rolled over, causing Jane to disappear beyond his broad frame.

“The Captain spotted some bird earlier and went chasing after it,” Bruce piped up from the window, anticipating a question Natasha had yet to voice. It had become routine to keep track of everyone, especially when they were still rooting out the seeds of Hydra. The last thing they needed was for someone to go missing. “He’s back now. And Sergeant Barnes is still attempting to make himself look less like himself.”

Clint laughed, “Yeah, and how’s he managing?”

“He took a pair of clippers in with him a while ago. Darcy heard some cursing from the washroom earlier,” Bruce grinned.

Clint darted away, no doubt to the washroom to make a nuisance of himself. Natasha wondered if the others in the room realised the trust spoken in his actions in leaving Natasha with them without a threat or second glance. The past few days had been an explosive but bonding experience for everyone it seemed.

“A bird?”

Bruce nodded to her, throwing Natasha a thoughtful frown that she started to mirror. “I think it was some kind of raptor.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky turned his head, left then right, leaning closer to the mirror on the wall. It had been years since he’d cut his hair so short. After Steve’s apparent death, he just couldn’t be bothered with much of anything, least of all his appearance. His hair had grown long and scraggly down to his shoulders. If it grew much longer, Bucky often just cut the ends with a careless jagged swipe from the nearest knife on hand. And he’d fallen out of the habit of shaving too, doing only a perfunctory scrape across his face when the itchiness got too much, leaving Bucky in an almost perpetual stubbled state the past few years.

It had all cut down his time in front of a mirror which was the most important thing.

He hadn’t liked looking at his reflection and seeing a pale ghost with dead eyes staring back.

Now though, Bucky had carefully lathered soap to spread over the bottom half of his face, and he’d used a sharp blade to shave right down to the skin. He hadn’t seen his chin bare in years. That had been the easy part. Stretching his arms around to reach the back of his head with the clippers was the difficult bit.

Bucky had twisted in all sorts of shapes trying to both see the back of his head and trim it at the same time. It was probably a horrible ragged mess in the back since he’d quickly lost patience, but it was definitely shorter. And the man staring back at him in the mirror looked more like the man he remembered.

More like the man Steve remembered too, if the sappy wide-eyed look he was getting as Steve stepped into the room was any indication.

“You find your stupid falcon?” Bucky started brushing off stray snips of hair from his shirt.

Steve shook himself out of his cow eyes, “Falcons aren’t stupid, Buck. And yes, I did.”

“What d’you think?” he asked, ignoring how wrong Steve was about those rodents with wings.

“It’s nice,” Steve offered. He rubbed a hand down his own face. “You think I should too?”

“You looking to impress someone?”

“Maybe I wanna look nice for my best guy.”

“Maybe I’d believe that if you’d shaved _before_ stealing me from my kidnappers.”

Pink glowed from Steve’s cheeks, and maybe he did need a shave, because Bucky missed seeing the full spread of that blush. Sometimes it could go all the way down to his belly, but that beard was blocking a lot of his view.

Bucky grinned and stepped closer, “Can’t be me you’re trying to impress. The muscles may be new but I know what that face looks like under all the hair. Who you gussyin’ up for, Stevie?”

Steve huffed, but he wasn’t meeting Bucky’s eyes, and the flush hadn’t faded, and Bucky _knew_.

Tipping his head to the side, Bucky smiled, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain swordsman that kidnapped me, would it?”

The jaw jutted out and the brows dropped low, and that was Steve’s stubborn look now in nearly full force, Bucky was just waiting on the nostril flare.

“Thought so.”

_And there was the nostril flare._

“He could’ve left me,” Steve growled. “When I was in the ice, he could’ve left me there, I was in no condition to help. He could’ve left me there but he didn’t. I don’t—”

“I know,” Bucky said, cupping his face.

“When Pierce froze me, I was so scared,” Steve said, voice quiet and fragile in a way Bucky never wanted to hear again. His hands reached out to hold Bucky. “With Zola before that, sometimes I didn’t blackout in the ice. Sometimes it just felt like I was drifting, not awake or asleep, not alive or dead, not anything really, beyond pain and the cold and any sense of time. I was just helpless.”

They shuffled closer, both needing the contact as Steve whispered against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I was so scared that I was never gonna wake up from that place but worse than that, I was scared that I was gonna wake up and you- that you weren’t gonna be there anymore. That too long would’ve passed. It felt a lot longer than ten days in Zola’s hands, Buck, it felt like _decades_.”

“You’re safe,” Bucky told him, squeezing Steve in his arms. “They’re all taken care of now.”

“I know,” Steve said, rubbing a bristly cheek against Bucky’s bare face. “I know, and sometimes I was _so sure_ I could still feel you somehow, a warm touch on my hand, or sometimes on my face. And- and I did wake up again.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And Tony… his was the first face I saw.”

Bucky hummed, rubbing Steve’s back.

“And even though I still couldn’t move, I didn’t… I didn’t feel so helpless.” Steve breathed deep, knocking his knees against Bucky. “Even though I couldn’t move, Tony saw past that. He really believed I could help him even in that state. It reminded me a lot of how it was like with you when we were kids.”

“Uh, he was dragging you _into_ a fight,” Bucky said. “I’m pretty sure I was the one trying to talk you _out_ of ‘em.”

Steve hummed, running his nose down Bucky’s cheek. “You both made me feel strong.”

“You just like having someone who’s up to fighting you as well as fighting _with_ you,” Bucky grinned, pressing closer, his metal arm wrapped around Steve’s waist so he couldn’t pull away. “Tell me, I haven’t seen him fight yet, was he good? I heard he was good.”

 _Ah_ , and that flush was back full force, Bucky could almost feel the heat coming from Steve’s face, but it had nothing on the heat simmering in his eyes, the blue going dark like the sky at dusk. Now Bucky really did wish he'd seen Tony in a fight if _this_ was the sort of reaction it was getting out of Steve.

“Bet he looked good, too,” Bucky carried on, letting his mouth run away from him. “Did’ya see those eyes of his? Long lashes and those pretty brown eyes would’ve pinned me down in a fight. You get him all worked up? Get him sweaty and panting, d’you get that goddamn mouth of his dropping open with words as sharp as his sword? Or maybe you saw him smile, cos I seen that smile, Stevie, and _damn_ I gotta see it again.”

Steve was breathing harder too, his big chest pushing at Bucky with every inhale and a whine riding along on the exhale.

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck, “That damn mouth framed by that fucking beard so you can’t help but look. You think after we’ve tasted that smile we might come away with the evidence? Lips rubbed raw and- _ah_ , is that why you want a shave, Steve? You wanna let him leave the proof on your face? You _want_ to get marked, want to really feel that scrape and scratch on your bare skin- down your cheeks- your neck- _lower-_ ”

The washroom door swung open suddenly, and Clint appeared and blinked at the entwined couple inside, the mischievous grin on his face fading as he took in their embrace.

Bucky didn’t give Steve any chance of pulling away, metal arm still locked tight. “Yes?”

“We all share this bathroom!” Clint squawked.

“We’re not doing anything.”

“ _Yet!_ ”

“We were just talking ‘bout hair care,” Bucky said.

Clint hissed, pointing straight at Steve’s burning face accusingly, “Yeah, right!”

“Don’t know what you’re minds coming up with, but I was only talking about shaving,” Bucky deadpanned.

Steve ducked his head against Bucky’s shoulder to stifle his giggles, and Bucky’s lips were wavering against a laugh of his own as he watched Clint’s face scrunch up. The archer threw his hands in the air and backed out of the room. “I don’t want to know!”

 

* * *

 

“Hey there, sleepyhead.”

“Rhodey… still not a dream?”

“Real.”

“Am I- am I seeing things, then?” Tony stuttered, eyes darting between Rhodey’s face and something over his shoulder.

“She’s there, Tones,” Rhodey assured him. “She’s really there.”

Maria couldn’t seem to hold herself back any longer and dashed around Rhodey to the other side of the bed, gently cradling Tony’s bandaged hand which was already half-stretched toward her. Tony followed her movements like a flower to the sun, and Rhodey got another look at those new smile lines on Tony’s face as he just goggled at Maria, his mother looking back at him as though she could never look away again either.

There were tears happening and they were on Rhodey’s face first.

Honey curls fell in a messy wave down Maria’s back like she hadn’t done since she’d been the Mistress of Stark House, spilling around her shoulders, making her look younger than she had in years as she beamed down at Tony. All the royal jewels and baubles were absent from her now, her dress a simple plain black gown. She had never looked less elite and less like the Queen, and yet more composed and more _Maria_.

Rhodey sniffed again and wiped at his nose, going back to watching a reunion _he_ almost thought was going to turn out as only a dream.

“Mom?”

“Oh, Tony,” Maria warbled, cupping Tony’s face, a thumb tracing the corner of his moustache as she looked at him, and Rhodey wondered if she saw more than one beloved face when she looked at Tony now. “My Tony, oh my darling, I can’t believe it’s really _you_. You’re _alive_!”

“ _You_ can’t believe it? I- I heard you scream,” Tony stuttered, voice trailing away to a croak. “I _heard_ you. Stane- he said- he said he’d killed you all! I watched him, I saw him kill—”

“Shh, no, no I didn’t, it wasn’t me,” Maria hushed him, dropping Tony’s hand only to reach down to wrap him up in her arms. “It wasn’t me, darling. No, Tony, I was still out of the house.”

“But I _heard_ —”

“It-it must have been Ana then.”

“Oh,” Tony nodded, something like relief twisting with fresh grief on his face.

 _Ana Jarvis_ , Rhodey didn’t like the idea of having the terrified sounds her last moment imprinted in his memory, and he hadn’t been as close to her as Tony. It probably didn’t hurt any less knowing it was Ana not Maria in his memory, it was just a reordering of facts.

Tony sniffed, one hand still clinging to Rhodey’s. “Did… did anyone else survive? Jarvis?”

“Ah,” Maria looked away from Tony for the first time, shooting a nervous glance at Rhodey, but Rhodey was not gonna be the one telling Tony _this_ , nope, he shook his head firmly. This would be best coming from Maria.

She jerked her chin at the door, and Rhodey had a time untangling his hand from Tony’s. “Don’t worry, Tony,” Rhodey assured him. “I’m just gonna go get someone.”

Tony’s eyes went wide, “Jarvis?”

“No,” Maria captured his attention again as Rhodey slipped out of the room. “But there is someone else I think you should meet. It’s a little complicated…”

 

* * *

 

Natasha was tempted to think her heels might actually dig grooves into the stone with how hard she was pressing them into the floor, as both Clint and Rhodes shuffled and pushed her through the castle.

“I’m Queen now, you know,” she piped up.

“Uh-huh,” Clint said, sounding no more impressed about it than he had the first time.

“You can’t just be seen pushing me about like this.”

“No one’s even going to see until you let the staff back into the castle,” Rhodes pointed out.

“They’ve not all been vetted yet.”

“Then there’s no need to worry about being seen,” Clint finished.

Natasha didn’t appreciate the team up going on here. Whatever the two had been up to the day before the wedding had obviously been some truly bonding experience.

“This is exciting,” Thor chimed in from where he was, bounding along behind them.

Natasha thought she was going to be sick.

Clint noticed her greying face but took it all in stride, _the utter turd_ , “You’re not gonna be sick.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

“I’ll aim for you.”

“Then I’m gonna get nothing on me. How terrifying. So threatening.”

“I can hurt you.”

Clint brought them to a stop, turning her to face him, “No, seriously, what’s wrong? D’you really not wanna like the guy?”

“It’s not that,” Natasha said, shaking her head, looking between the three men. “But what if _he_ doesn’t like _me_?”

Clint snorted, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Why _wouldn’t_ he like you?”

“I had our mother.”

Rhodes snorted now too, “It’s not like you had her hostage or anything.”

“She was only with Pierce because Stane convinced her it was better for my safety, I might as well have had her hostage!”

“Lady Maria made a choice,” Thor said calmly. “An adult choice on the well-being of her child. It may not have been a pleasant decision or a happy one, but if she was hostage it was by her own design and she accepted that.”

“I still had her, and he didn’t, you don’t think he’s going to see that as unfair?”

“I don’t,” Thor told her earnestly. “Anthony has long shielded a gentle nature with barbed words and dangerous skills, but the truth is that his heart loves deeply. He searched the world for most of his life seeking to avenge those he’d lost because of that love. Perhaps he never knew of you until now, but Anthony does not have to know you for you to be held close to his heart, so generous is his love. You are dear to him already, your Majesty, I know it.”

Natasha couldn’t bring herself to even begin believing those beautiful words, even with Rhodes nodding from next to Thor.

“There’s a lot of the boy I knew still in the man there is now,” Rhodes said. “You might think you’re intruding on Tony getting back the family he had, but you’re a miracle to him, your Majesty. You’re untainted by the darkest parts of Tony’s life. You’re someone he never even dreamed of, which means he might actually stop expecting this all to be a dream.”

“Nat,” Clint held her by the shoulders. “He’s going to love you.”

“Too much, even,” Rhodes added with a grin, only looking delighted by the prospect. “Be prepared to be smothered and spoiled by his affections. You’ll know you’re in deep when the pet names start.”

“Oh? What’s he call you, Rhodes?” Clint asked. Natasha was curious to hear too. She didn’t always like pet-names herself. Only from her mother, in fact. But she suspected that Tony might get away with it now, too. It would be nice to have some idea of what was in store though.

“All sorts of shit,” Rhodes admitted easily. “I’m usually Rhodey though. Honeybear when he’s feeling sappy. Sourpuss when I’m annoying him.”

Clint snickered and Thor beamed, “Anthony has in the past called me Blondie and Goldilocks. I believe he envies my hair.”

With the three men in front of her, one her brother in all but blood, the other two just as good as to her _actual_ blood brother, Natasha was sure that if she couldn’t trust _these_ three about Tony, or her own mother’s words, then there was no one she could trust. She had to believe them.

Their words were all of course proven true.

Tony had apparently been waiting for her, eagerly watching the door for Natasha and pushing himself up in bed to greet her, even as their mother scolded him on moving around so much.

“You’ll tear your stitches, Tony!”

“Red,” Tony blurted out, gaping at Natasha, eyes fixed on her hair. That was the first thing he said to her. No mention of the crown on her head, or the fact he suddenly had a sister, or anything at all about the utterly insane events that had occurred over the last few days. Just the hair.

In spite of herself, Natasha found something about Tony’s poleaxed wide-eyed expression endearing.

She fluffed a pillow and with gentle firmness pushed Tony to lie down again, tucking the blankets over him with their mother’s help. Tony lay staring at her the whole time, and Clint was wheezing at the door, knowing already what had happened. Natasha had completely surpassed the awkward introductions stage and landed straight into protective territory.

Her first challengers arrived later that afternoon.

Tony had since tentatively set a hand in hers, the injured one. Natasha carefully cradled his bandaged fingers and basked in his awed looks as Clint told him stories about her life as a princess. Thor countered with a few stories of Tony’s adventures since they’d met, and Rhodey was reminiscing with Maria over Tony’s boyhood adventures. It was a very enjoyable afternoon crowding in one of Maria’s rooms.

A light knock on the door and two more joined them.

“Wow,” Rhodey deadpanned.

Clint spluttered, “Wait - you really _were_ talking about shaving?”

Steve’s face bloomed red, and Bucky nervously cleared his throat, and Natasha noticed that their eyes kept darting to her brother. Her _brother_ who was looking at them with a ridiculous expression on his face that was making Steve’s bare cheeks flush darker and Bucky’s naked chin lift higher, pleased slants to both their lips.

Tony nodded along as Thor complimented them, and Natasha watched the couple eagerly lapping up Tony’s reaction.

“It’s different,” Tony said brightly, looking at them.

Between the clean-shaved looks and hair trims and Bucky now displaying his metal arm instead of hiding it, there were enough changes that no one who spotted the couple would think they were some of the ones who'd been storming the castle and attacking the King’s guard.

“I wouldn’t recognise you if I didn’t know.”

“Can’t have people thinking the new Queen’s apparently dead husband was just walking about,” Bucky offered with a rueful grin. “The people might get angry about me makin’ her a wife and widow all in one day to run off with a pirate.”

“That’s right! Have you met Natasha?” Tony asked.

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said slowly, voice deadpan. “We’ve met her.”

“Right, right. She can apparently kill a man with a fork,” Tony continued in an awed tone of voice, glancing at Natasha. “Isn’t that amazing?”

Bucky started pouting, “I can do that, too.”

Tony didn’t appear to have heard him, beaming proudly at them, “She’s my sister!”

The couple were positively green as Tony gushed over her. A smug smile stretched across Natasha's face. It had Bucky shooting dark looks at her, and Steve eventually resorting to making his way closer to Tony, with a transparent request for him to check for any missed spots from shaving.

A small hand reached him first, fingers pressing delicately to the jugular and making Steve freeze under Natasha’s touch. Bucky was staring at Steve’s neck with horror, it seemed he recognised the handhold she was using. _Good_.

“Sometimes, I don’t even need a fork,” Natasha said lightly. She felt Steve swallow nervously under her fingertips.

“Wow, really?” Tony said beside her. Apparently, _he_ didn’t recognise the handhold. How precious. “That’s amazing. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing,” Bucky choked out. He didn’t seem able to breathe until Natasha moved her hand over to cup Steve’s chin instead.

She turned Steve's cheek to Tony. “Why don’t you have a feel?” she said, delighting in how Steve couldn’t seem to decide between looking at her in horror or looking at Tony with starry eyes. “It feels smooth to me.”

Tony obligingly ran his fingers down Steve’s cheek, nodding seriously as he checked him over, the pink blooming deeper following his touch. Bucky couldn’t seem to look away from the rosy trails, eyes turning a stormy grey.

It didn’t seem like Tony noticed though, focused on the sharp jawline Steve was presenting to him. Rhodey was shaking his head but looking unsurprised and Maria had an amused pinch around her eyes too, as they all watched Bucky shove Steve out of the way and offer his own cheek for inspection. As Thor described it, Tony was an incredibly smart man. He couldn’t honestly be this oblivious to such overt plays for his attention, _could he?_

But - no - Tony was now petting Bucky’s smooth cheek with a look of sincere concentration.

 _Oh_ , Natasha adored him already.


End file.
